Forget Me Not
by Indy Croft
Summary: Taken from an excerpt in the novelization, a well kept secret from Johnny's past has returned to hunt him down, and Sonya's life lies in the crossfire.
1. It was Fun While it Lasted

Disclaimer:  Johnny and Sonya aren't mine. (SOB!)  But all the other characters are.  Doesn't that make me special?

This story is based on an idea taken from the novelization of the movie.  I consider it to be a rather dark tale, as I've come to find those to be the most interesting and the most angsty.  Be warned, dear reader, that this is no light hearted story, and should not be taken as such.  Shock is something I hope for, and confusion is expected.  But most of all, I want to entertain you with the twists and turns hidden within the dark heart of man.  Enjoy.

Note:  Italics are used for accent and for memories.

            '~' these quote marks mean a person's thoughts.

Johnny leaned against the balcony; around him the music climbed the walls in sweet mellow tones of romance and adventure.  Below, the streets moved with the grace of a colorful serpent, bodies pressed into each other to the beat of the music as performers did magic tricks, juggled with swords and various fruits, or swallowed fire.  The crowds gasped and laughed with delight; Johnny's envy grew as each moment passed.

In his fingers, a small object twirled carelessly in circles and figure eights.  Sometimes, when moved to just the perfect angle, a burst of light would flow like white fire from the small diamond.  Then it would move again, the flash would disappear, and only the small thread of spun gold would reflect in the dancing flames around the balcony.

Despite the cheerfulness of the festival below and the clear sparkling heavens above, Johnny couldn't even bring himself to smile.  No mischief tonight, no wining and dinning in an expensive Italian restaurant with a cocky smile and adoring fans shoving pads and pens into his face.  No desire to even look into his girlfriend's eyes and drown there as he swept her up into the music and danced the night away.

Instead, the young actor was too busy sorting his past, reliving the moments that he had tried to banish, but now couldn't keep locked away.  And he was glad she wasn't there to see it.  To see the hardness in his eyes, the cruel curve of his mouth.  The only time his body hinted at relaxation was when the ring caught the light and shimmered in his eyes.  

_…Know what happens to drifters…_

_…No, please don't…_

_…You are a dead man…_

He sighed heavily, shoulders dropping and hands covering his face.  All he kept seeing was her face…

"Hey, handsome."  Johnny stiffened as warm arms laced around his waist and a feminine figure pressed into his back.  He made no move to acknowledge her presence, except to quickly tuck the ring into his pocket.  "Why do you have your suitcase out?"

Johnny took a deep breath before turning around and putting a smile upon his face.  "Sonya."  He gripped her arms lightly, leaned down and kissed each cheek.  Her smile was dazzling, and he noticed that she was wearing the azure silk gown he bought for her not a week ago, the one she declared she would not wear unless it was for a dire cause… like being held at gun point with while dangling from a rope off the Empire State Building in the middle of an electrical storm while a silver key dangled from her neck, and even then she would have to be persuaded.  Johnny chuckled inwardly.  Bribed is more like it.   "I'm glad you caught me before I left.  I was just out here to get some fresh air before I finished packing."  His cocky smile never left even when he drifted away from her and glided into the room with ease.  

Sonya stood in confused shock.  "Packing?"  She followed him into the large suite.  "Why are you packing?  We don't leave for another two weeks!"

Johnny heaved a weighty sigh.  "I know, I know.  But there's a new script I just received, and they're begging for me to play the lead," he commented with a haughty tone.  His back turned to her so he could pack while talking.  "It's bound to be the biggest blockbuster movie since Sudden Death, and that will boost my stardom enough to hopefully get over this lame idea that I'm fake."  He paused as he walked into the bathroom.  "Only problem with the film is, they start shootingtwo days from now," he continued.   "So I need to get outta here and back to the States ASAP."

Sonya stood speechless for a moment.  "Wha… And what about m--the vacation?"

Johnny turned with a look of sudden recognition.  "Oh, you don't need to worry.  Stay the rest of the time; enjoy it here.  I've still got the expenses."  He grinned like he was doing her a favor and then carried on with his packing like everything was splendid.

Sonya, however, was not splendid.  Her face was taut and flushed, her eyes wide.  "You're just going to leave me here?  After you promised we'd spend time together, you're up and gone at the call of a stupid movie?!"

"Sonya," Johnny said in exasperation.  "It's my life.  I need to do these movies!  They're what I live for!"

"I thought I…"  Sonya didn't finish.  Instead, she curled her hands into fists and marched for the door.

"Sonya, wait!"

She froze, turning only when the actor jogged over to her.  

"Here."  He was reaching into his pocket for something.  When removed, she noticed it was an envelope.  He reached in and pulled out a wad of money, put the envelope onto the small night table with the lovely floral vase and roses, and handed the cash to her.

"What's this?" she asked suspiciously.  In her hand was over $3000 in crisp bills.  

"To cover any and all variable expenses.  I don't think I'll be in touch much, what with the movie and all, but I'll call you if I can, and maybe we can meet up somewhere.  But anyway, thanks for the good time.  It was worth every minute."  He smiled with a relaxed posture and a comfortable demeanor, like he was giving a child a compliment.

The cash fell in a graceful flutter of green paper and ink.  "You may regard me as some bar beaten hooker, but I won't be paid like one," she responded.  Without another word, without an argument, without killing him, she walked out. 

As soon as she was gone, Johnny's smile rotted away and his appearance became melancholy again.  A hand ran through his hair, he took a deep breath.  His eyes drifted around the too quiet room, over the mute fireplace and black television, to the small coffee table next to the couch where the newspaper laid limply on the edge.

The vase shattered into a thousand pieces, the projected force causing the wood table to become dented and scratched, but the jagged pieces could not shred the article in print, or the cold, devious eyes of the picture that stared off into the night.


	2. A Walk in the City

Disclaimer:  Johnny and Sonya aren't mine. (SOB!)  But all the other characters are.  Doesn't that make me special?

"What is your opinion of the trial?"

"Was it true that you were friends with the assailant, and took credit for his crime so he could escape?"

"What do you plan to do now?"

Finally, he reached the car and was able to slip away from the press and their demanding questions.  When the door closed, everything became muted save the soft hum of the air conditioner and the shuffling of bodies settling into seats.

"Mr. Patkins, your defensive skills were commendable.  I thank you for helping to clear this whole matter so efficiently, and with no loose ends."

The lawyer grinned.  "I do my best, sir.  Though after seeing how much you've cleaned up, it was no sweat to beat out the prosecution.  As for loose ends, I'll need you to sign a few papers to close up the last bits of paperwork, and then your free to go."

"It's already done."

"Oh," Mr. Patkins remarked in surprise.  His smile widened.  "Well, than everything's complete… except for one thing."

"And that is?"

"What are you going to do now?"  The lawyer received only a slick grin in reply.

After being dropped off at the office, the car drove off toward a side alley that was darkened by the close cropped buildings with run down walls and garbage hanging from the steel balconies above.  Headlights dimmed, car parked but revving, the rear passenger window rolled down with a soft whir, and a grim but handsome face peered into the darkness.

"Any news?"

"Vacationing in Italy."

"Pictures?"

A brown envelope was handed through the window, shuffled around.  The passenger pulled out a marker and he drew a circle on one of the photos and made a note.  He handed it back to the shadow at his window.  

"Would you like me to bring him here?"

The passenger shook his head with a wry grin that was hidden in the dim car.  "No.  He'll come on his own, I'm sure.  Just follow through with that little assignment."

The shadow nodded and slipped back into the ink darkness.  

The bar was loud and crowded, but in those conditions Sonya always seemed to think best.  And thinking was just what she needed at the moment.  The last week ran across her mind yet again; memories flashed rapidly as she tried to search for anything she missed that may provide some light.  

After storming around the city of Venice for an hour, fuming silently and knocking down every guy that attempted to say hello, she returned to the hotel in the hope of talking about this movie thing.  Actually, beating was more what she had in mind, but details weren't important as long as she got the truth out of him.  Because something felt wrong.  He felt wrong, like there was something missing from him, or something totally different; it was bothering the hell out of her.  

She cringed unconsciously at the memory of his smile.  It was cold, void of feeling.  It scared her.

_When she arrived at the hotel, they told her he had left.  The counter was the only thing keeping her standing until the shock passed… again.  He really had left her.  He had been serious.  She ended up spending half the night picturing different ways of killing him, and the other half crying in the bathtub._

_It wasn't until the next morning that she noticed the broken vase near the fireplace.  Being thrown across the room was what she quickly deduced, and a spark of hope filled her.  She called up the studio that day in an attempt to get in touch with Johnny, as both of his cells were shut off._

Sonya frowned.  That was another odd thing.  His regular cell was always on, unless it should go dead, and even then he had a replacement phone to get his calls.  

_When she got in touch with the studio, she used her military tone and title to pry information from the little twerp of a secretary on the end of the line.  That was when she received the third blow._

_There was no movie being filmed, and Johnny had not shown up in LA.  He had lied to her twice, and to achieve what?  To run away from her?_

_Or to keep her from running with him?_

_Answers.  She needed them.  Immediately Sonya set of to the airport and to getting information about his whereabouts, assuming he had flown back to the US.  That was what brought Sonya here, to New York.  A reservation had been made through the airline company to a local hotel in Manhattan._

In the glass her drink swirled.  Yet another confusing question.  Of all the top hotels in New York, what the hell possessed him to go to a causal, middle class type hotel that was nice but nothing like the exquisite rooms he was always renting when he traveled?  It was out of character, most definitely.  Normally he wanted people to know where he was, but at the moment, he seemed to be receding into the corners, like he was trying to disappear.  

_She had arrived at the hotel about a day after he did, in estimation.  After talking with the clerk, she discovered he had checked in under his birth name, Carlton.  She asked a few more questions to learn that Johnny rarely left the hotel during the day, instead remaining locked up in his room on the third floor.  At night, however, he was seen leaving around 11 and returning around 5 in the morning.  With a thank you to the clerk, she took a seat in the lobby and debated her ideas.  Confront him now, or keep careful tabs on him until she learned more.  As much as she wanted to go upstairs, kick his door in, and demand an explanation, she didn't think she'd be getting one.  Whatever he was battling at the moment, he didn't want Sonya involved.  This was personal._

_She went back to the clerk, checked out a room, and waited. _

_Then she followed him.  Every night he left the hotel and took the subway into Brooklyn.  Kept carefully to himself, not talking with anyone past a simple greeting, Sonya observed.  A different street every night, he'd exit the subway and walk the city, sticking mainly to dark side streets with no lights.  He simply walked, but looked around constantly, as if thinking he was being followed, which made it harder for Sonya to stay close.  A few times she lost him, and gave up her search so as not to be found.  The next night her vigilance was assumed again.  _

So far, she'd learned nothing from their nightly excursions.  It was irritating, so she made a decision.  Tonight, when he went out, she would follow him one last time, and if nothing came out of their little trip, she was going to ram him into a wall with gun drawn and force the answers out of him.

With a flick of her wrist, she signaled the bartender for another khalua.  At that moment, someone began shouting complaints about a spilled drink, and she looked down the bar to see two guys arguing.  It ended when one of them threw a newspaper down and stormed out.  Things returned to normal in the lounge.

But while most people went back to talking, Sonya's eyes remained glued to the paper, and something flashed in her mind.  _Johnny and Sonya were in bed at the hotel, and they were playfully arguing about getting up.  After giving in to a brief morning make out session, Sonya forced herself out of bed to get a quick shower, which she clearly stated Johnny was not invited to join.  He had pouted and attempted to make a scene, but at her unforgiving glare, he relented.  With a quick kiss, he let her shower while he ordered breakfast to be brought to the room.  When Sonya came out twenty minutes later, the place had a different feel to it.  Johnny stood against the doors leading to the balcony, his body rigid and closed in, his face expressionless.  The paper was rolled up in his hand.  She'd asked if he was all right, and his reply was in the affirmative, but something was out of place.  For the rest of the day, he seemed distant, toned down.  Again she asked about his well being and he merely replied that it was just an off day.  Sonya thought nothing of it, as she'd had those days as well.  But then his attitude that night…Was it something in the newspaper?_

She glanced into the mirror to watch herself knock back the drink when she noticed a figure walk by.  Black coat, black sweater, black sunglasses, blue jeans.  Johnny was going for a new look tonight.  Sonya threw a wad of bills on the bar and set off after him.

He didn't wander aimlessly as usual, with the appearance of searching for something he didn't know.  This time he seemed to have a set destination.  It was to an old building in the south end of Brooklyn.  Broken glass sparkled on the streets.  Dirty and torn clothes hung from limp lines connected to neighboring buildings.  No street lights, no homes, garbage everywhere, a few homeless scrounging for something to tame their hunger.  This was the place where Johnny specifically went.   Where he stopped at a wall at the back end of the alley, he hesitated, looked furtively from side to side, and then to Sonya's amazement, walked through.  There was a soft creak.    

Quietly Sonya followed.

The wall had a slit just wide enough for a person to get through.  One wouldn't see it in the dark unless he was looking for it.  The gap widened and squared off to stop at a cellar.  The door was open and there was a faint light inside.  Sonya crept down.  A dying light flickered from the ceiling, illuminating the room enough to see, if only dimly.  The place could be likened to an underground bar.  Some pool tables were off to the side, a poker table lay on its side near a smashed television, and crates lay in scattered heaps on the dirty floor.  There were scorch marks along the walls and across the counter of the bar.  In the back was a door, slightly ajar to another room.  Forward she crept on the balls of her feet, and she pressed herself to the wall to listen.  She heard nothing, so peered inside.

Blood.  The walls were stained brown with dried blood.  Frozen into the brick and cement were the small trails from the splattered substance that had leaked down the walls but were never cleaned.  A mattress was on the floor, torn and stained in the corner.  Sheets covered in brown and black spots covered part of the floor, and the rest of the room was bare save for two chairs against the far wall, one splintered and broken.  Across from the mattress, Sonya could see a handcuff nailed drilled into the cement.  At the center of the room, Johnny stood motionless, his eyes trained on a point Sonya couldn't see.  Her logic tried to conjure up a reason for him being here, in this depressing place where God knows what happened.  But he had never told her anything about Brooklyn.  As far as she could remember, he had never been in this city.

Johnny turned, causing Sonya to quickly duck out from the doorframe and crawl over to the toppled poker table.  Breath held, she sat patiently and looked around the corner of the table.  A moment later, Johnny walked out, head bowed, feet dragging.  He stopped just outside the door, paused, and turned back to look inside again.  In the moment his head lifted to turn, Sonya could practically see the memories flashing across his mind.  Anguish filled but cold as ice, his eyes held something Sonya couldn't distinguish.  Whatever it was, though, it made her shiver.  

"Thought you'd be by here."

Shock coursed through her veins as she watched Johnny spin sharply, his left arm extended and his body tight.

'A gun.  He has a gun.'  He never carried a gun.  Never.  Even when Sonya asked him to hold hers for a moment while she was packing, he refused to touch it.  Said he hated the things.  Said they scared the hell out of him.  But that wasn't the only thing that was bothering her.  If he didn't have a gun while in Italy, and Sonya knew he didn't, he must have bought it the night he arrived in New York, the one night Sonya wasn't following him.  And the way he was handling it, by his grip and his posture, she could tell this wasn't his first time using one, which completely contradicted his dislike of the weapon.

Her eyes shifted to the new occupant.  He was short, lanky, and dead in the eyes.  Sonya could easily classify him as a druggie.  There was a gun in his belt, close enough to his hand to be pulled in case the movie star tried anything.  A sardonic smile crossed his lips as he spoke.

"Hey, man, no need for that.  We're all friends here."

"Where is he?" Johnny demanded quietly.

Sonya frowned.

"Around somewhere.  You know it's always so hard to keep track of his whereabouts."

Johnny cocked the gun.  "I'm not going to ask you again," he responded, the menacing tone edging on deadly.

"Picking up Santa Clause," the man answered, nonplussed.  "He really missed that jolly ho ho ho."  The smile became a devilish grin.  "Don't you?"

Johnny's eyes narrowed.

The man stepped forward with a quiet laugh.  "Come and have a drink with us.  It's been so long, hasn't it?  I'm sure we'll have a lot to talk about."  His sick smile and mocking friendliness made Sonya shudder.

"Somehow I get the feeling there won't be as much talking as there will be screaming."

"Somehow, I get the feeling you're right."

There was a soft whistle, like a burst of air through a small hole, and Johnny was knocked down to his left side, a small fountain of blood spraying the wall.  Even as he hit the ground, a second gun was firing from his right hand, the bullet lodging itself into the chest of the second man who fired from the shadows.  The perp fell with a loud grunt.

The first man had dived down when Johnny fired, pulled out his own gun, and aimed for the actor.  From the stairs, two more men with long hair and ragged clothes pointed their own guns.  Shots echoed in the room as Johnny shot off three well-aimed rounds that put the two at the stairs on the floor, dead.  The first man sent off three shots of his own that gorged into the wall, with one bullet scathing Johnny's calf as the actor rolled behind the bar.  Sonya retaliated in his defense and put a bullet through the druggie's hand.  A scream echoed off the walls of the room as the man dropped the gun and held his bleeding limb.  He looked up at Sonya, who stared coldly back, her weapon never wavering from its trained position on his head.

Slowly he stood, and then waited, fire flashing in his pale eyes.

Knowing he couldn't do anything, Sonya slid her eyes to the bar.  "Joh--"

The man's leg kicked up, an object took flight, and then he was squeezing the trigger.  The bullet exploded into the brick next to her head, she went to the floor, rolled out from behind the poker table, and fired at him.  But he was gone, up the steps and away from the cellar.

Sonya swore under her breath as she stood.  She walked over to the bar and looked behind it, to see a gun shoved in her face.  "Johnny?" 

"Sonya?!"  Ooh, he was mad when he saw her.  She almost cowered at the enraged look in his eyes.  

Almost.

"Let's get you out of here," Sonya said as she helped him up.  Blood dripped from his shoulder, and he was having trouble supporting himself on his right leg.  

"What the hell are you doing here?!" he hissed when his shoulder was agitated.

"Saving your dumb ass."  With an arm around his waist, she helped him around the three dead bodies and up the stairs.  "Friends of yours?" 

"You shouldn't be here.  You have to leave."

"Not until we get you some medical attention."

"No!" Johnny snapped.  "No hospitals!"

"You're shot--"

He shook his head so viciously he nearly knocked them over.  "I'm not going to any fucking hospital!  I can't."  He stopped walking and tried to shove her away.  "And you can't be here.  So get the fuck lost!"  His injured leg couldn't support him, so he stumbled.  The lieutenant quickly helped him again.

"Fuck you, I'm staying!"  Sonya hailed a cab that was, miraculously, driving by.  She helped the injured man into the back seat.  

"Is your friend all right? The hospital's right by here," the driver offered in a thick northern accent.

"No!  Goddamn it, no hospitals!"

"Shut up, Johnny!" she said with a smack to his chest.  "He's just had too much to drink.  All he needs is a long night's sleep," Sonya answered.  She gave the directions back to the hotel.

Johnny pinned her with a harsh glare.  "You know where I'm staying?"

"Excuse me, sir?  Can you turn up the volume a bit, I love this song."

"Sure thing, ma'am."  And the steady techno beat filled the car.

Johnny repeated his question impatiently.  Sonya's arms wrapped around his body in response, and she pulled him closer.

"Yes, I know where we're staying."

"You bitch," Johnny spat and squirmed to get out of her arms, but his wounded shoulder pressed into her fingers and he hissed again.

"Stop squirming, I don't want you to get blood on the seats," she whispered fiercely.

"I don't want you touching me," he retaliated just as harshly.

She kept her voice steady, and was glad he couldn't see her flinch at his words. "You have no choice if you don't want to go to a hospital.  I'm the only person who will help you out."  

"They're small wounds, I can take care of them myself.  I don't need you."

"You're starting to sound like me."

"What does it take to get through your blonde head?  I don't want you here!"

Sonya glared at him, her teeth bared slightly and her eyes narrowed to slits.  "You want to get rid of me?  Tell me what you're hiding," she growled.  "Tell me what the fuck is going on with you and your little trigger happy friends.  Tell me why you're carrying two guns around, and why you've completely hidden yourself from society, and why the fuck you lied to me."  She stared at him intently, waiting for him to crack.

He didn't, so the two remained quiet all the way back to the hotel.  


	3. Forgive Me, Father, For I Have Sinned

Disclaimer:  Johnny and Sonya aren't mine. (SOB!)  But all the other characters are.  Doesn't that make me special?

"You're lucky, the bullet just grazed you."  Sonya dabbed at his shoulder wound with a damp cloth after she finished treating his leg.  When finished cleaning it, she bandaged it up.  

Johnny said nothing.  He winced occasionally, but kept his mouth shut.  Straight ahead, into the picture on the far wall, his eyes remained.  Even when his friend finished treating his wounds, and merely stared at him, he said nothing.

"Are you going to talk to me?"  

"Will you listen?"

Sonya moved away a bit.  "Yes."

"Go away."

"Except to that."  She rose off the bed and walked into the bathroom to rinse out the blood stained cloth to the best of her abilities.  "But I will listen to you tell me what's been going on the past week," she called from the bathroom.

Johnny returned to his stoic state.  

Sonya walked out of the bathroom and stared at him.  He wasn't going to talk with her, and she could feel her temper rising again.  But Johnny was used to that, was used to her snapping and yelling at him.  Perhaps if she tried a different approach…

Expressionless and relaxed, Sonya climbed onto the bed and placed herself over him on her hands and knees.  She moved her head so her eyes met with his, and she held his gaze intensely.  Slowly, she leaned closer and pressed her lips to his.  He didn't respond.  She moved away slightly to see his reaction.  It was passive, indifferent, and his eyes never left her face.  That wouldn't do at all.  Again, she leaned into him to kiss his lips tenderly.  With growing boldness, she deepened the kiss, breaking through his resistance to fully explore his mouth.  Her body lowered to his and her hands pressed to his chest, fluttered up carefully around his shoulders and laced through his hair.

Johnny harshly pulled away from her.  His hands seized hers and he held her gaze with cold, piercing eyes.  But there was doubt in those eyes, and something else that Sonya couldn't place.  "You have to leave here.  You're in danger being with me."

"I'm always in danger, no matter who I'm with.  It's part of my job."

"They know who you are.  They'll come after you."

"Who will?"

Johnny moved her off him and sat on the edge of the bed. "Vince saw you.  He'll tell the others, and they'll be looking for you.  You'll be hurt."

"You're the only person who's hurt me so far."

"And I'll do it again in a heartbeat," Johnny countered instantly.  "Anything to get you away."

"Why are you doing this?" Sonya asked as she leaned around the bed to sit next to him.  "Why won't you let me help?"

His gaze was on the floor as he answered.  "Because this doesn't concern you.  If it did, I wouldn't have broken up with you, would I?" he sneered.  

Blade could tell he was trying to sting her with his words, but she couldn't allow her hurt to show through.  So she retaliated with the only things she believed would get to him.  "You were in a gang?"

Johnny's eyes looked up from the floor, and slowly he turned to face her.

"You know the streets so well, and the way you handled the gun…" She took his hand in hers.  "And that man, he made a reference to Cocaine… he asked if you missed it…" She left the thought hanging.  "I just put it together."

"Sonya--" his hand pulled away from hers.

"Don't.  Whatever happened is over and done with.  That's not who you are anymore."  Her voice dropped a little lower.  "I want to help the wonderful man you've become, Johnny."  She cupped his face and stroked his cheek.  "But that means you have to tell me what's happened that has brought all this back."

The actor flinched away from her touch.  "I don't know," Johnny replied bitterly, his eyes glaring into hers, "if I can do that."   

'My God,' she thought to herself after staring deeply into his eyes.  'He's terrified.'__

A growl interrupted her intended comment.  The two blinked at each other, and then Sonya began chuckling.  "Hungry, John?"

His gaze returned to the floor.

"All right."  She rose to her feet.  "I'll get us some dinner from the café, and a bowl of ice, too."  A finger delicately traced his shoulder.  "In case things start to swell."  She was hoping to get a smile out of him, but he was unreceptive.  Her hand seized his chin and lifted his eyes to hers, all teasing gone.  "You have a choice.  Tell me what's going on and let me help you, or continue playing the half-ass arrogant bastard and I'll keep following you around until one of us gets killed."  With that, she left the room.

Johnny watched her leave.  'Tell me what's going on…'__

The light fixture swayed… laughing… 

Cage shook his head violently.  "No," he whispered.  "No, I can't."  He stood and walked to the windows.  Few people were on the streets, and not many cars drove past.  The city was sleeping.  

Plip.  Plip, plip, plop.  

Pinging gently against the pane, the rain made small rivulets of water cascade across the glass, blurring the blacks, blues, and grays of the city into a dark watercolor.

Pounding.  "Room service!"

Johnny turned.  He waited until the cry came again, muffled through the door.  The actor pulled out his gun and walked toward the door.  "I didn't order room service," he replied evenly.

"I have a drink that was ordered by the lady downstairs."

Johnny frowned.  "Which lady?" he asked, suspicious.

"Said her name was Sonya."

The actor smiled, tucked his gun behind him, and checked the peephole.  The bellhop was unfamiliar, so he unlocked the door.  On a platter before him was a dry martini, olive included.  

"Thanks," Johnny said as he took it.  "How much?"

"The lady took it downstairs," the bellhop said with a smile.  "Enjoy."  He turned and walked away down the hall.

'Odd, he didn't wait for a tip.'  The actor watched the boy walk away, shrugged, sipped his free drink, and shut the door.

Had he stayed a few moments longer, Cage would have noticed the bellhop stop at the closet to converse with the man with a bloody bandage around his hand.

"A freakin' hour for two meals!  Unbelievable!" Sonya complained to herself as she leaned against the wall of the elevator.  She hoped Johnny didn't bolt while she was out.  There was too much explaining to do.

A sharp ding disrupted her thoughts, followed by a soft rumble when the doors opened to the 11th floor.  Before stepping into the hallway, Sonya sensed something wrong.  The air didn't flow right.  She dropped the bag of food.  Her gun was pulled instantly and her stance became defensive.  Carefully, she moved down the hallway.  About seventeen paces down, she noticed a door ajar.  She shifted her weight and pressed her back against the wall.  Three counts passed and she kicked the door all the way open.

On the floor, the bellhop groaned softly.

"Shit," Sonya muttered.  The closet being empty and no threat evident, Sonya kneeled next to the roused victim, helping him to sit up while surveying the scene.

"I don't know what happened," the young boy moaned to her inquiries.  "I was taking a drink to one of the guests, and then I was knocked down from behind.  Then you're here."

Sonya tried to figure why anyone would hit the bellhop.  "Are you missing anything?"

The bellhop searched his person, and cursed loudly.  "My wallet.  Goddamn it, they took my wallet!"  He added another moan of pain for sympathy.

Sonya sighed.  'Hit and run theft.  Joy.'  "Go down to the main desk or your supervisor, ask them to see the cameras for this floor, perhaps they'll see who did it.  And get an ice pack for your neck."  She stood, grabbed the food, and left him to deal with his unfortunate luck.  

Besides, she had her own problems to deal with.  Starting with questions.  Then answers.  Then explanations.  Then a lot of drinks.  And apologies.  She continued down the hall to Johnny's room, the stiffness never leaving her shoulders.  

Her sharp hearing detected a moan.  Sonya paused before rolling her eyes.  Damn bellhop.  She froze.  A muffled wail?  Or a scream…  Sonya looked down the hall.  The bellhop was gone.  So… Something crashed inside Johnny's room.  Sonya didn't bother with oral exclamations.  Food thrown to the side, gun out, she kicked the door in and rushed into the frenzy.

That did not exist.  The room was calm and empty, except for a stain of liquid creeping down the far wall, and a trembling figure praying beside the bed.  Only he wasn't praying.  He looked more like he was defending himself from an enemy that was already inside of him, and he couldn't escape.    

            "Johnny!"  In a moment she was at his side, gripping his arms and trying to get him to look at her, but he pushed her away, stumbled into the wall, kept flailing his arms like he was drowning.

The pictures kept flashing through his mind.  Her voice rang in his ears, and Johnny leaned against the wall as he became dizzy with the memories.  Somewhere, far away, Sonya's voice drifted to him, comforting him, but he pushed her away.

"Please don't do this…"  She was so scared… he inhaled sharply, and his stomach turned at the scent of blood.  The sheets were covered in them, the pillows too, where her wrists were rubbed so raw they split open.  In shreds were her clothes, and then she was there, not crying, not moving, not breathing…

"Johnny.  Johnny!"  Sonya tried to slap him, tried to faze him from his constant habit of drifting from reality, but he managed to keep from her.  And then suddenly, Johnny cried out and gripped at his head, like something was hitting him, knocking him down.

"Please, please, PLEASE GO AWAY!"

Sonya didn't move.  She wasn't sure if he was talking to her or to the demons he was fighting inside himself, but she stayed firmly where she was with no intention of leaving.  Again, she tried to reach him.

"Johnny, come back, Johnny, snap out of it!"  She cried out as he grabbed her upper arms and squeezed them.  Her eyes drifted to his face and she fell still.  He was staring at her, his eyes wide and wild.  He was panting lightly, each breath caressing her chin.  In a way, Sonya almost felt a pang of desire for him, for his closeness and his beauty that was trapped in a mask of terror.  And then he spoke to her.

"I can't, Sonya, I can't forget.  No matt-I tried, I tried so hard, but it keeps coming back."

"What does?" she asked softly.

            Suddenly he let go of her arms and he pressed himself against the wall.  Whimpering slightly, he sank to the floor, and he closed himself up.  His knees met his chest, his arms locked around his legs, and his head rested against the wall.

"Christine," he whispered, with a tenderness that made her heart ache.  Slowly Sonya knelt before him.

"Christine.  Such a beautiful name," she whispered back.  "Who is she?"

For a long while, Johnny didn't say anything.  Sonya opened her mouth to speak again, when he swallowed.  His legs stretched out in front of him, his shoulders fell as if in defeat, and his hands moved to cover his face.  When he answered, his voice was nothing but a whisper, haggard and broken.

"The girl I raped."


	4. The Lord of the Flies

Disclaimer:  Johnny and Sonya aren't mine. (SOB!)  But all the other characters are.  Doesn't that make me special?

The noises were loud tonight.  Thunderous and bone rattling, but it didn't matter.  He was used to it.  The boy turned down the side alley, walked carefully through the soaked and smelly trash scattered across the street.  An old man, thin and listless, rested in the warped cardboard box that was pressed in between a building and a dumpster.  He raised his head and stared at the boy with dead eyes.  The boy just gave a quick wave and moved on.

At the end of the alley was a group of boys.  Looking no older than 15 each, they stood in a circle and punched at each other playfully, while talking wildly about the latest street fight, and what happened to Joe Fuckup who slipped and got arrested.  The tallest of the boys stopped, and turned with a grin to the new arrival.

"Hey, hey, my bro is back."  Thick brown hair and nearly black eyes accented the thin pale face of Jack, the leader of the pack.  He stepped away from the circle to throw a strong, muscled arm over the small boy, pulling him into a manly one armed hug.

"Hey Jack."

"Where have you been, JC?  You've missed all the action!"

"Yeah, last night, we got into Old Hag's bar and stoled twenty bottles.  Got'em stacked down in the cellar," Sean, a boy of 10, with pale skin covered in mud and the body of a stick, said excitedly.

"And Jack gots himself a new girl," Tommy added.  He was one of the oldest, only a few months younger than Jack, and was second in command, so to speak.

Johnny, 14, was shorter than most of the other boys, but he was built well for his age.  He could hold his own easily in a fight.  If not for his stout form, he could have easily passed for eighteen, especially with his hard face and cold eyes.  When asked again where he'd been for the past week, he shrugged, his blue eyes reflecting the lack of interest he had been feeling.  "Been sortin' stuff out, ya know?"

Jack snorted.  "Whatever.  Listen, we got a hit going up tonight.  You in or not?"

The group of boys turned as one to face their fellow member, waiting with a dark patience that held promise and warning behind seemingly innocent faces.

"Of course I'm in," Johnny answered coldly.  "Where is it?"

Jack only grinned.  "You'll see."

An hour later, the group of boys stood at the corner of a closed bakery shop.  They huddled in a small circle, talking quietly to each other, while a pack of cigarettes appeared and was passed around.  Johnny took one, lit it, and only took a puff or two before letting it burn away.  He stood off from the group, choosing to stare solemnly at the night sky than brag about the latest steal.

"You need a fix."

The short boy looked up at his newly arrived companion.  A scowl formed and he flicked the cigarette into the gutter.  His eyes returned to the sky.

"You're worrying me, JC.  You've been kinda drifting."  Jack moved into Johnny's view of the stars and stared him down.  "After all these years, you've been one of the best.  You take shit from no one, and you take risks.  I've always liked that about you."  He stepped closer and leaned into Johnny's face.  "But you know how we feel about drifters."

Johnny stared, dead eyed and unperturbed.  "Calm it, Jack.  I'm fine.  Like you said, I just need a fix."  Jack didn't back down, so Johnny made sure he got the point.  Smiling with grim satisfaction, he watched Jack's gaze shift to his stomach, where the boy had his small handgun aimed.  "I'm fucking fine.  You just know how I get when I'm on the edge."  His blue eyes blazed in the pale moonlight.  "And lately, I been having trouble controlling my temper."

Jack grinned and backed away.  "Good.  Glad to see you're revved for tonight.  Just in case we run into any--" He pulled out his own gun and cocked it.  "-Problems."

"We won't."  

"Hey Jack.  They're here," Vince called over.

Both boys looked up and across to the parking garage.  Jack nodded to his boys and the group walked across the street to meet the three older teens.

"Step into our office, little boys," one tall guy sneered with an arm tossed around Jack's shoulders, leading him and his boys back into a dark corner of the garage.  

The leader shrugged it off and pulled out a tightly wrapped plastic bag.  Inside was something green, hard, and cold.  The teens' eyes lit up.

"That all of it?"

Jack nodded.  "Ten grand.  You?"

One of the guys pulled from his coat a bag of crack that easily matched the weight of a bag of pancake mix.  It was huge, and the boys began to fidget nervously, their wide eyes reflecting their desire to taste the power.

"Money."

It was tossed to the teens.  They began laughing.

"Stupid fucks."  A gun glinted in the light and was fired at Jack.

Only it was the tallest of the three teens that fell, blood oozing from his wrist.  He dropped his gun and gripped his injury.  Twelve more guns reflected the light of a distant light bulb, and the teens knew they were outnumbered.

"Nice shot, JC."  Jack nodded to the blue-eyed boy with the smoking gun.  He pulled his own gun, picked up the crack and money, and grinned.  "Pleasure doing business with you."  Three gunshots echoed through the silent lot.  

Footsteps pounded into the cement, making distinct smacking noises through the alleyways.  Stifled cheering could also be heard, along with swearing and the occasional whoop of laughter.  Two loud creaks and the cellar doors were thrown open as the boys raced down into their hideout.  Vince took his place behind the bar and all the boys gathered around as the crack was set on a dish, divided, and inhaled. Then everyone was on the floor laughing, while Vince attempted to make some drinks.  Somehow a few joints got tossed into the mix, and then there came the appearance of hallucinogens.  

Johnny wanted those little crazy pills, but they'd never let him take them again.  The hallucinations set off his anger into the red zone, and he'd see things that he hated so much, like his father that beat him, or his mother that took his sister Rose and just left because she never wanted a boy in the first place.  Everyone that hurt him or abandoned him was standing there, teasing him, insulting him; was driving him mad.  He attacked one of his buddies, beat him to disfigurement, and pulled out a knife that he brandished over the kid's heart.  Jack had stopped him, with the help of four other boys, and they cuffed him to the wall in the red room until the drug wore off.  Johnny could only remember bits of what happened, but after that point it was known not to get on the boy's bad side, because drugged or not, he was always a gun waiting to go off.

A couple hours passed of hazy vision and hysterical laughter at jokes without punchlines.  When things quieted down a bit, everyone split up to find their own amusements.  Tommy and Drake went for the pool tables; Sean, Matt, Nick, and Hank set themselves down at the poker table.  Jack disappeared into the back, the place known as the red room.  It was in that room where Jack spent quality time with his girlfriends.  POWs from other gangs were also placed in that room, locked into the handcuffs that were hammered into the wall.  The prisoners were kept there until a ransom was paid, or until he was beaten to death.  The walls were turned red from all the blood spilled in that room, hence the name.

Johnny took a stool at the bar, reached for another pack of cigarettes, and lit one up.  The buzz of nicotine, mixed with the coke, and the shot of gin Vince handed to him made everything dance in the room, and it was a beautiful thing.   

Except for the fact that it left him nauseous, disorientated, and absolutely miserable.  The colors swam in currents of black, and everything was moving slow, so slow…

"You want to come?"

Johnny's head lulled to the side.  Jack was staring at him.  "What?"

"Getting' Chris, more drinks.  Coming?"

Johnny could distinguish nothing more, so he just shook his head in the negative.  He wanted to stay at the bar and drink till he passed out.  He watched Jack shrug and then disappear into the walls.  He started laughing.  A hand clasped his back.

"JC, good shootin' earlier.  How goes it?"

"Hey, Anty."  

The young boy, no older than 12, took a stool and sat next to Johnny.  He was short, skinny, with a mop of wild red hair that went every which way, a chin that jutted out at an odd angle, and freckles all over his body.  Found by Jack over in a dumpster near 15th, he said his name was Anthony, but had trouble pronouncing it because of a busted jaw that left his chin permanently crooked.  So he became Anty.

"You looking sad, JC.  What wrong?"

Johnny shrugged.  "Everything."  Unconsciously he fingered the gun in his baggy pants.

"That ain't cheery at all.  You need something cheery, boost ya back up.  Hey, V, giv'im something hard."  Anty slapped his back.  "Make'im live again."

Vince turned away with a smile, fumbled with something under the counter, and put up a shot of whiskey.  Johnny accepted the drink, though he didn't really want to, and downed it without a second thought.  Then he pushed himself away from the counter, stumbled, and regained his footing with Anty's aid.

"Where you goin'?"

"Air," he muttered.  "Want some air."  Carefully he made his way back to the surface, to the stinking streets that constantly dripped with water from broken pipes in the apartments above.  He stumbled around in the dark, slipped out through the crack between buildings, and leaned against the brick of the abandoned dry cleaners.  Water rolled down the walls to pool at his feet, the garbage reeked of the last week's scrounged food from stores the boys constantly raided.  A woman with a decrepit shopping cart scrapped along the end of the alley, looking through the boxes for a decent place to sleep.  About ten blocks away, sirens blared into the night, the result of another gang shooting, or a suicide.  Those were the only police situations that happened at this time of night in this part of the city.

Johnny just stood against the building, listening to the sounds of the city and watching the stars that were beginning to change colors and fall from the skies in the shapes of cars and palm trees and dishes of ice cream.  Everything around him was shifting into gold and warm food and oh, so comfortable looking furniture.  They were enticing him with the dreams of a life better than this, better than being on the streets, in the night, in the cold.  

A low rumble shook the streets, and Johnny knew a storm was coming.  But he just stood quietly, and wondered when it was all going to end.

That's when he smiled, lifted the gun to his head, and said good night.

"Johnny?"

He turned, his head swinging loose on a neck that didn't seem to support him anymore.  A giant hot dog was walking toward him, covered with ketchup on the top, mustard in the middle, and relish at the bottom.  His mouth started watering.  

"Johnny, are you okay?"

He jolted back to reality.  Ketchup became hair, the mustard a skimpy lace dress, and the relish melted into light green heels.  

"Christine?"  Johnny watched her completely shift from hot dog to human, and began laughing.  He laughed so hard, his gun fell to the street and he bent forward at the waist, his hysteria making him start to topple.  The ground raced up at him, but he was caught by the bun of his beautiful, delicious hallucination and he was shifted back to his feet.  

"What's so funny, eh?"  

Oh, he loved that voice.  She was 17, all legs, with striking red hair and soft brown eyes.  Irish was written all over her.  At 15 she dropped out of school and ran away from home after her father tried to rape her, and she'd been working the streets for money every since.  She had a beautiful voice that was sexy and playful, and she was pretty smart for someone her age.  But, oh, she had a temper, and when set off she could throw punches with the best of them.  She even drank some of the gang right under the table once or twice, but everyone would get so high afterwards that no one could clearly remember it.

Johnny had cared for her ever since the gang met her on the streets, working the corner near the sexy adult bookstore.  She was Jack's girl, and everyone knew to stay away from what was Jack's, but the two always talked when they were alone.  They never did anything past talk; both knew the consequences were too severe for that.  One day, though…

"You look so good," he whispered in a slightly slurred tone.  "Good enough to eat.  And I'm so hungry."

He couldn't see the blush in her magenta colored face—damn, that crack was some powerful shit—but he knew she was embarrassed.  

"Sorry, sweetheart, but you can't afford this meal."  She wrapped an arm around his waist while she placed his arm over her shoulder.  The gun made her stumble, and she leaned over to pick it up and tuck it in the back of his jeans.  "Don't want you losing that," she muttered and shifted his weight again.  "Come now, let's get you down below.  You can sleep off your liquor with the rest of your pals on that dirty mattress you have the nerve to call a floor."

Johnny held her back from walking.  "No, wait.  Don't wanna mess with lion."

"You're gonna be messing with a gun if Jack comes by and sees you clinging to me," she retorted.  Again, she started leading him to the cellar.

This time, he didn't just stop her, but he pulled her over against the wall and pinned her there.  His grip wasn't painful, his attitude held no threat.  Clarity shone from his eyes, all signs of his drunken, drugged stupor evaporated from sight, though he was still buzzing inside.  "Don't care about Jack.  Don't be scared," Johnny slurred.  He may have felt fine, but his speaking skills were still lacking.

"I'm not scared," she argued quietly.

"Then come with me."

The Irish red head blinked.  "What?"

"Come with me, away from the streets, away from everything.  Start over with me."

"Boy, you're talking crazy now.  How can you just leave here?  This is your home."

Johnny shook his head.  "No more.  I met a man, been staying with him.  He's kind, has money, can take care of me."  Johnny stepped closer to her.  "Can take care of you."

The two street teens stared at each other for a moment before Christine rolled her eyes to the sky and leaned against the sticky brick wall.  "Have you lost your mind?  A man, just so suddenly generous, wanting to take some druggie kid into his home?  It doesn't happen, John, things like that don't happen.  We're street scum.  Nobody wants us.  There is no life for us outside of these alleys."  She pushed him away from her, put her back to him as she looked around the dark side street.  "This is my home.  I'm happy here--"

"Happy living day to day?  Wondering where the food's from?  Waiting for the next fuck?  Where's the happiness in that?"  Johnny stepped after her, but things around him began to swim again.  In his mind, his words mixed and matched until they were a tossed salad of phrases.  Colors danced along with flying saucers, singing garbage, and an elephant doing the can-can.  He was starting to slip into a hazy state, leaving his body to lean heavily against the wall.

"You know why I can't leave, John.  Jack loves me.  He owns me.  He'll kill me if I try to leave him."  

The alley way lit up from a flash of lightning.  There was a loud rumble of thunder overhead.  "I'll kill him first.  I'll kill him if he touches you."  He was right there when Christine turned to face him, and his lips fell onto hers before she could back away.  Hot and cold raged for domination in his body, causing shivers to mingle with the sweat from his racing heart.  The spots kept flashing behind his eyes, the world was black and gray and changing all the time.  He was floating away.  Then the cement was digging into his knees and he couldn't tell up from down.  Christine was screaming, God, she was screaming at him to get away, she wanted Jack, she'd have Jack kill him.  Then she was gone into the cellar.

She chose Jack over him; after all the times he was there for her, and after offering her a chance to live a new life with him, he was passed for the leader.  Again he was tossed aside like the garbage he knew he was.  And it angered him so much.  He was tired of not being taken seriously.  Sick of being inadequate to everyone else, tired of getting leftovers, Johnny made a decision.  He knew what he wanted, and he was going to take it.  He was going to be on top this time, and he wasn't going to take no for an answer.

It was time for him to take what was rightfully his.  He made his way into the cellar with his gun drawn, and fire in his eyes.  


	5. Only A Memory Away

Disclaimer:  Johnny and Sonya aren't mine. (SOB!)  But all the other characters are.  Doesn't that make me special?

"No, dear God, Johnny!"

Tearing sheets.

"Stop it!  Please!"

Mangled limbs.

"No, please don't … please, Johnny, no more!"

Sobbing, screaming, so much screaming.

"God… help…"

Blood everywhere.  Dripping, pooling, soaking, staining…

"No… no… _please_…"

Too much anger.  Not enough release.

Not enough.  Never enough…

"You fuck!"  Pain burst from his chin through his skull.  The world slowly swirled to its more normal tilt as his swollen eyes opened to the dim light of the room and the dark shadow standing over him.  Johnny tried to pull his arms up to block the next punch to his face, but found he couldn't move.

'No… not again…' 

"Why?!  You piece of fucking shit bastard!  Why did you kill her?!  Fuck!"  

A punch to the cheek split the skin, a kick to the stomach left him breathless, and then there was a crack and an explosion of pain from his collarbone that sent his world cascading in colors of red, white, and black.  He looked up to see Jack, a bat in hand, blood dripping from the end.

"I trusted you, and you turned on me at the first fucking chance!  Did you fucking think you'd get away after playing with my things?!"  The bat came down again, right on the fingers of his left hand, and Johnny was close to howling in pain as his fingers were crushed between the bat and the wall.

"You were the best, JC, and then you betrayed me!  You fucking betrayed me!  You are a dead man.  You are a fucking dead man!  Nobody messes with my fucking property!!"  

Something loud crashed from the other room.  Johnny could see through barely open eyes as Jack stormed out of the red room.  Shouts, loud and angry, reached his ears, but barely processed in his brain.  His mind was too focused on what was going on.

'What did I do?'  As things became clearer to his eyes, he looked up and cowered back into the wall.  Fresh blood was everywhere, splattered against the walls and seeped into the floor.  A pale white hand hung from a damp, red sheet bound around the wrist.  Dried blood stained the fingers.  Limp hair, matted down by sweat and more blood, clung to the red pillows, and Christine's blank eyes stared over his shoulder.  Her mouth hung open in a frozen prayer for help.  Rouge drops continued to fall from her nose, over her mouth, down into the sheets.

Johnny was instantly sick to his stomach.  The night before returned in vivid flashes of touch, taste, and smell.  Moans escaped his cracked lips.  'Why?  Why her?'  A scream pierced his ears.  She was crying again.  Clawing at him to let her go.  Pleading to stop hurting her.

He needed to get out.  The cuffs bit into his skin when he tried to pull.  Pain surged through his hand, and after observing the damage he noticed his left thumb was broken.  Easily his hand slipped through the cuff, though it left him stuck with the other cuff.  When he shifted, he felt something dig into his back.  A wicked grin, coated with blood, spread across his face.  His left hand reached into his belt and removed his gun.  He stood up, aimed at the chain, and pulled the trigger.

All hell broke loose.  Three boys were in the room in seconds, and Johnny plowed right through them, his short but built frame easily slipping through the narrow spots.  Right before he ran out into the room full of his gang members, he rammed into Kyle, a tall and slightly pudgy boy of 11.  Pushing with all his might, he used the boy as a barricade to the fire about to reign on him.  Gunshots and grunts filled the room.  When Kyle collapsed to the floor, body bullet-riddled and bleeding, the blue-eyed boy retaliated with his own gunfire that shattered bottles of liquor over the bar.  The alcohol rained down onto the counter and floor, and suddenly caught fire on a lit cigarette.  A wave of flame ran across the bar to explode into a fireball near the poker table.

Everyone in the room ducked to the floor, except for Johnny who tore up the stairs and raced out into the dawning day.  He couldn't tell if the pounding in his ears was from the boys behind him or the racing of his heart, but he didn't stop until he crashed through the doors of the closed dojo and collapsed on the floor.

"Who's there?!" someone cried out, and then, "Johnny!"

"Please, I didn't mean--" Johnny panted.  "I'm so sorry!" He didn't realize he was crying until he choked.

"Johnny, calm down," a soothing voice comforted him.

"Forgive me, please don't punish me, I'm sorry!" Johnny sobbed to the beautiful young girl before him, with red hair and chocolate eyes that melted anything they looked upon.  She reached out to him, whispered, sobbed as her face swelled and bled.

Johnny's scream ripped at the heart of his companion.  Then, thankfully, the boy blacked out.

"Feeling better?"

Johnny shrugged.  "I guess," he muttered.  His gaze remained on the city whipping by him, and on the streets that he swore he would never cross again.

"I don't know what happened to you, Johnny, but you don't have to tell me until you're ready, if you choose to tell me at all.  Just know that the longer you keep it in, the worse it will be to confront as you get older."  There was a pause.  "I will be here to listen."  

Johnny felt a pat on his knee, and he glanced at the kind man driving next to him.

"I will always be here to listen, and to help."

The young boy smiled gratefully, though it agitated his bandages.  "Thank you, Master Boyd."  The Occidental karate master smiled back and Johnny refocused his attention out the window.

He stiffened.  There, as the car slowed at a stoplight, was a police car and a group of kids on the sidewalk.  One was handcuffed, the others were being searched.  When the boy being helped into the back of the squad car looked up, his eyes met with Johnny's.  Time stopped as they stared, and when the shock wore off, Johnny read the message in Jack's furious eyes.

'I'll find you.

'And I'll fucking kill you.'

Johnny was jolted back to the present when the car moved, and Jack slipped back into side view mirror and out of sight.  Trying to relax, Johnny eased himself into the seat and concentrated on the road to his new life.

California was a long way ahead, and Johnny knew he wouldn't get there fast enough.

"I lived under Master Boyd's care until I could live on my own.  But the memories never left, the guilt and the shame, it always stayed with me with every step I took.  And then I was asked to play a part in a small martial arts flick… and I found a way to escape the nightmares of my past.  I became an actor.  Because in the movies, I didn't have to be myself anymore."  His voice, having changed from fast paced and upset to distant and soft, now became cold and flat.  "And Jack's out now, his parole granted on the grounds that the murders of various gang leaders so long ago were not his, and that he was not the person who killed Christine."  He took a staggering breath.  "They got at least one thing true."

Sonya wanted to argue back, wanted to embrace him and try to soothe his pain… but she was so numb she couldn't move.  When she learned he was in a gang, she knew she could deal with that, because he wasn't a member now.  He was a good man who helped save earth by risking his life for his friends.  There was no selfishness there.  Ego, perhaps, but no desire for personal gain at the expense of others' lives, or homes, or families.  

But this… oh, God, what he did… how could any decent man, drugs or not… Sonya couldn't even process the words in her mind.  It hurt too much.  It was too much to take in, that the man she had come to care for so deeply was capable of, _had committed_, such an act of hate.  Nausea threatened to make her run for the bathroom.

"No!"  

Sonya jumped slightly at Johnny's outburst, but it wasn't to her he was talking.  

Wrapped around his head, his hands pulled on his hair while his jaw clenched his body had a spasm every few seconds.  "No, no, I didn't!  I didn't want to!"

"Johnny?" called his companion, who started to reach for him.

"Argh!"  Johnny thrust his arm out, nearly smacking Sonya to the floor, and he stood up, his gun drawn on no one but the voices in his head.  "It wasn't supposed to—stop it!  God, shut up!  Just_ shut up_!"  The gun suddenly turned to his head and was pressing into his temple.

"Don't!"  Sonya jumped him, knocking them both into the small plastic couch.  She pinned him there and pulled the gun from his hand.  As soon as she let go of his hands, she slapped him across the face.  "Snap out of it!"  Another slap.  "Wake up!"  A third.  

The fourth was caught by Johnny's weak grip.  For a moment, he stared at her with recognition, apprehension, and shame.  Then his knees gave out and he collapsed back on the cushions.  His eyes were dimming into the hazy state of sleep.  Exhaustion from the emotional ordeal had finally set in.  There was a shift and a groan, and then Johnny was out cold.

Tears burned in her eyes, but she still pulled a blanket out from the closet and put it over him.  A glint from the floor caught her eye, provoking her to stare for a moment at the shards of glass from the drink he had fixed for himself.  That was the explanation for his sudden flashbacks. Too much alcohol in an emotional state with a traumatizing past resurfacing after so many years…

She shouldn't have left him alone, when alcohol was easily accessible from the little refrigerator in the closet.  Why did she have to take so long to get back upstairs--why didn't she just let him leave her, let him deal with this alone--why'd she force him to tell her things she didn't want to hear--The walls were closing in on her, she had to get out of the room, away from the events of the night, away from the man she didn't know anymore…

A beep from her watch signaled 3 am as she walked through the sheets of rain, unaware of the chill that seeped through her thin jacket and into her skin.  After so much time in the night air, she couldn't shake the dread and the doubt in her heart, nor could she forget the images conjured up from Johnny's words.  For a moment, she could picture that horrid night in New York looking just like this, and she felt herself dying inside, just as Johnny was dying in guilt.  Her steps quickened.

She didn't know how long she walked, and she didn't care where she went.  All she had to do was just keep moving.  The cold made her numb physically, Johnny's secret left her numb everywhere else.

_In the movies… I didn't have to be myself anymore… _Now she understood why Johnny was afraid of being seen as a fake.  Not as a fake fighter, like she originally thought, but as a fake person, because that's what he was; an action hero on the side of good, trying to hide his deeds of darkness.

She turned toward a club with blaring music.  Some people were laughing and screaming as they got wet after leaving the wild party, and for a moment, Sonya was distracted enough to forget her troubles.  Then the wind whipped into her face, and for the first time, she realized she was crying.  Embarrassed at her lack of control in a public place, she quickly turned down a side street to collect herself in private.

The shadow behind her followed without breaking step.

Johnny woke with a stiff neck and no feeling in his left leg.  'Shit.'  He was cold and uncomfortable and still dead tired.  He reached across the bed for Sonya, to pull her close and keep him warm, and nearly fell off the couch in the process.  His eyes flew open as he realized he wasn't on the bed, which explained why he was uncomfortable and cold.  In a rush the memories of last night returned without stopping, and he groaned into his hands.  Sonya was terrified of him, disgusted and broken by his words.

"Sonya?"  He waited, hoping to hear her from the bed, or the bathroom, or the closet, or anywhere in the room.  Silence followed, and he called again, to be greeted with more silence.  Carefully, he kneeled on the floor as he came fully awake.  Looking around, he noticed nothing different or out of place.  There was, though, small pieces of glass on the floor.  

Johnny frowned.  The bed was made up, room-service style.  No one had slept in it last night.  A thorn of worry pierced his heart.  Perhaps she'd just returned to her own room last night.

The window was open.  He walked over to close the curtains that streamed too bright light into the room.  Outside, the sunlight of high noon made him blink frequently.  'When did I open this window?  It was closed last night… wasn't it?'  His head dropped in confusion.  He blinked again.  

"Wha…"  Next to his feet was a red dot.  Turning his head a bit, he saw another one a foot away, and another behind that.  Johnny's blood suddenly went cold as it pounded past his ears.  The dots began to become bigger, and they glistened with gooey wetness in the cascading sunbeams.  Step after precise step, Johnny followed the trail to the closed bathroom door.  His breath hitched as he turned the knob and let it creak open.  Suddenly Sonya's voice filled his ears.

"Why do doors always do that at moments like this?  It's not a movie, ya know.  A door's not supposed to creak during a suspenseful moment in real life."

Johnny wished the voice was really hers and not from his head.  The first thing he saw was the white hamper, and then the sink came into view.  Johnny stared in horror at the red writing across the mirror.

'Paybacks are a bitch.'  Numb with fear, his gaze slowly trailed down to the white marble sinks where red streaks bled into puddles on the floor, puddles that were expanding across the white tiles.  His breath was beginning to leave him in short puffs and gasps as the door opened its full arc, and his eyes fixed on the far wall.

The bathtub was overflowing in red.

And a thick head of stained blonde hair was floating upside down in the center.


	6. Jack of All Trades

            Disclaimer:  Johnny and Sonya aren't mine. (SOB!)  But all the other characters are.  Doesn't that make me special?

"NO!"  Johnny's scream went unknown to him as he raced into the room, slipping in the ever-growing pool of crimson, and he fell onto his knees next to the tub.  "Sonya," he whispered brokenly as his hand, shaking with fear and despair, reached tentatively out to the blood-covered crown of hair.  Carefully, he stroked the top as he pushed the head to face him.  But the soft hair slipped beneath the water, making some overflow onto his jeans.  Johnny gasped as he gripped the hair tightly and yanked it up.  

The wig dripped beads of stained water across the floor.  Johnny nearly collapsed with relief and frustration.  She wasn't here.  She wasn't here.  And that scared him as he glanced again at the writing on the mirror.  Dropping the wig, he stood wearily, swaying slightly as the rushing adrenaline left his aching heart.  It was at that moment he noticed an envelope sitting on the neatly folded towels.  His name was written across the top in ragged handwriting.  Tearing the letter open, one word crossed his mind.  Jack.

_Dear Johnny Boy,_

_Sleep well?  You looked tired.  I guess learning I was out of jail got you so excited you wore yourself out.  _

_I hope the little surprise in your bathtub hasn't interrupted your vacation here to the old Big Apple.  We all know how tiring it is to be an actor, living in the spotlight day by day.  I can understand why you needed a break.  And from what I've been hearing, it sounds like you could use extended time.  _

_Yes, your beautiful call girl has been entertaining me for hours with stories, and some hours without.  You've got good taste, JC, that's something I'll always admit to.  And she has good taste, too.  I could lick her for hours and never get tired of that sweet, tangy honeysuckle spice she has.  Is it the body wash, or her natural scent, do you suppose?_

_Ooh.  I just get shivers writing about her.  That full mouth, just dying to be sucked upon. Beautiful, soft blond hair, up north and down under.  Quite a seductress.  And the gang has no objection either._

_But, business first.  And we do have some business to take care of, don't we?  So let's get on with it.  Go to the little rock shore under the Manhattan Bridge at 11 tonight.  There will be a small boat waiting for you.  A tall redhead will meet you.  She'll be your escort.  Come alone, and without any scent of the police on you, or your sexy slut gets done over and dumped into the canal.  _

_The longer it takes you to get here, the more playtime the guys get with my new toy.  Got it?_

_See you tonight, JC.  Can't wait for us to start catching up on lost time._

_Jack._

Johnny shivered as he read the last line.  He had no doubt in his mind that catching up would involve handcuffs and a lot of blunt instruments.  But he couldn't be concerned with that.  Sonya was with them, God only knowing what she had already gone through, and Johnny had to set aside his own fears to get her out.  Unintentionally, the letter in his hand was crushed in a quaking grip as Johnny thought of Jack's description of her.  He could be messing with his mind… but there was no doubt that Jack could have been touching her, doing things Johnny knew he had no right doing…

The mirror shattered around his fist, but the pain went unheeded, and the whispers mingled with the few rebellious tears.  

"I'm sorry, Sonya, I'm so sorry."

11:02.  His arm fell back down to his side, a hand slipping into the pocket of his casual black pants, a heavy sigh leaving his body.  The metal of the bridge was cool against his black tee shirt and long black coat, and he focused his breathing in an attempt to soothe his nerves.  Guilt and fear had been agitating him all day, while he cleaned the bathroom as not to arouse suspicion with the hotel and bring in the cops.  'How had they found him?  How did they get into his room?'Then he found the broken glass from his free drink the night before.  While cleaning the pieces, he found a powder at the bottom of the glass.  He had been drugged.  The hallucinations, the paranoia, the sudden exhaustion, how they had staged his bathroom without him knowing it; everything fell into place as he realized that someone in the hotel must be a part of the gang.  That was how they got Sonya.

He attempted to stretch his shoulders, shifting his back against the railing he leaned upon as to relieve some of the tension from his body.  His shoulder stung in protest, and his leg wasn't too thrilled either, so he quit moving.  Silently, the actor waited for his escort to take him to Jack.  And to his death, no doubt.  But like before, he couldn't be concerned with such petty things.  Not while-

"Mr. Cage?" 

Johnny turned to the voice, and went pale.  She appeared next to him in a soft emerald dress that sparkled as it moved; a red orange hue livened her hair and large brown eyes accented her porcelain features.   She was exquisite to say the least, and if not for the fact that she was dead, Johnny would have easily likened her to Christine.  Another mind game for Jack to enjoy, no doubt.  So the actor steeled himself as she placed both hands on his shoulder to give a kiss upon each cheek.  Confidence regained and posture wary, he gestured for his companion to lead the way.

"Come."  She took his hand, as much as he didn't like it, and pulled him toward a small boat he hadn't heard arrive.  She greeted the man inside with a warm smile.  He offered his hand to pull her down, which she graciously accepted, and Johnny followed soon after.  Water slapped against the sides of the watercraft as it zoomed over the dark surface. 

"He looks forward to seeing you again."

Johnny turned to his escort, again shivering at the striking similarities between herself and Christine.  Again, he acted casual.  "If he was that eager, he should have just come for me in the first place."

She laughed suddenly, deep and sensually.  "Now where would be the fun in that?"

He gave her a sharp glance.  She smiled back.  Wickedness reflected from her eyes.  Before he could say anything in return, the boat pulled into a small docking area.  All around, building with black windows held neon signs that flashed 'Girls', 'Bar', 'Tattoos', 'Adults Only.'  Prostitutes walked back and forth along the streets, calling over to the men that stared with wanton eyes.  It was a horny man's wet dream come true.  

The woman pulled Johnny out of the small boat and led him past a group of druggies sitting on trash cans and passing a joint, into a booming club called 'Domination.'  Johnny's bones pulsed with the heavy tempo.  Around the room danced strung out crackheads and intoxicated whores in hopes of getting laid and making a buck.  The actor was disgusted to remember that he used to love places like these.  The loud music, the swaying bodies, the drugs and the booze.

Reality came back to him when he was pulled to the bar and offered a whiskey by his escort.  He declined.

"Just a sip?" she teased with a pout as she lifted the drink and pressed it to his lips.

His hand shot up and the glass knocked from her hand shattered against the bar.  For a moment, they just gazed at each other, her face trapped in angry shock, his expression flat.  A small amount of satisfaction filled him as he watched her slowly become unnerved under his unflinching stare.  

"All right," she finally hissed through stunning white teeth.  "Let's go."  A toss of her hair and she was walking through the crowds to a dark hallway.  Two bouncers stood in front of a barred door; neither of them were recognizable to the actor as he passed by.  The room he entered was small and completely black, with only a white light overhead and a stairwell leading below.

"Everyone's waiting for you down stairs," she murmured into his ear.  "But first…"  Her hands pulled his coat off and she removed the two guns and the extra clips he had in his belt.  "Lift your arms."  A pat down followed his movement.  "Hmm," she muttered.  "Only two guns?  Really, Mr. Cage, I would have thought you'd want more defense on you than just that."  

"I don't always need weapons to defend myself."

"Really?"  She laughed into his ear, causing him to flinch away.  "Then prove it."  She shoved him, and he tumbled down the stairs.  Pain buzzed up his arm when he landed on his shoulder, and as the world around him stopped spinning, he could see four hands reach down and drag him up under the arms.  He could make out a short hallway with various doors on either side, and he was pushed through one on the right.  In that room, Johnny could see a pool table and a liquor cabinet.  Two men were in the middle of a game, and after a moment of contemplation, Johnny recognized them as Hank and Sean.  They were looking good for being on the street for fifteen years.  Fixing himself a drink at the cabinet was Jack.

He was built.  Muscles bulged under his white button down shirt that was open to show his toned stomach.  He wore simple khakis with a brown leather belt, and a thin gold chain hung off his neck.  When he walked over to Johnny, he stood about three inches shorter, giving Johnny a silent satisfaction at having a height advantage.  For a few moments, Jack just stared, sizing up his old pal and new prey.  He smiled, and drove a right hook across Johnny's jaw. 

The actor teetered back but was held tightly by the hands of the two men he couldn't see it.   A fast uppercut went into his stomach, making Johnny breathless, and then a third blow hit him across the cheek.  A kick to his stomach, and he was doubled over, moaning softly.  Blood dripped from his split lip onto the cement floor.  After a moment and a deep breath, Johnny lifted himself up.   "So much for small talk," Johnny coughed.

"27.3 million."

Johnny frowned.

Jack smiled back.  "That's how much money you have in your home account, right?"  He began walking in a small circle around the actor.  "Sixteen years locked away, JC.  Do you know how hard that is on my day planner?"  A few chuckles went around the room.  "I've missed a lot of fucking appointments, all with very important people who could have gotten me very rich."

"Or very dead," Johnny muttered and then groaned when he was hit on the back of the neck with something hard.

"You know how much I love Brooklyn," Jack continued.  "Brooklyn is my home, and you know what's been going on?  Gangs have been moving into my turf.  They are fucking with my property!"  Jack stepped up into Johnny's face.  "And you know how much I hate it when people _fuck_ with my property," he hissed, the double meaning not going undetected by the actor.  

"Well, that's a shame, Jack.  I'm really sorry you're losing your fucking property, but I'm not your fucking realtor, so why the hell are you telling me about it?" Johnny asked, nonplussed.

"Because you're the one who made me lose it," growled Jack in return.  "Had you not put me in jail, you stupid shit, I wouldn't have lost control of my territory, and I would have been expanding."

Johnny couldn't help the arch of his eyebrow.  "Well, perhaps if you hadn't of been running around the streets intoxicated, with a loaded gun, in broad daylight, we wouldn't be in this situation.  Then again, subtlety never was a strong point with you."  He gasped when the switchblade cut across his face, from one cheek to the bridge of his nose.  

"How's that for subtle?  Wouldn't you say I'm graciously hinting at the fact that I'm going to beat the shit out of you, kill you, take your money, and get my rocks off with that sweet piece of American woman in the other room?" Jack mocked.

Johnny went at him but was restrained by his captors.  He took a breath and hid his bared fangs to show a calm expression.  "Is that what the twenty seven million is about?  You want my money to expand your…" his eyes roamed around the room, "whatever?"

"Money was never on my mind when I thought of you.  I just wanted you dead."  Jack grinned.  "But now, with you having made it so successfully in show business—you always were a good liar, I might add—I get a bonus.  And twenty seven million ain't nothing to sneeze at."  He walked back over to the cabinet and lifted his drink to his lips.  After a swallow, he continued.  "But you are correct, my good and soon to be dead friend.  I do have an eye for expansion.  The only way I can do that is by wiping away the dirt that has the nerve to call itself gangs out of my town.  And to do that, I need weapons.  A lot of them."  He finished off the drink and set it down on the cabinet.

"Jack, what the hell makes you think I'll be so willing to help you out after all these years apart?  I mean, you never even sent me a Christmas card," Johnny feigned hurt with a sarcastic undertone.

Jack stepped into Johnny's personal space, his face an inch from the actor's.  "Because you don't have a choice.  Either you get me the money, or I kill her."

Johnny's eyes became slits, and for a moment, his face was so hard that he looked just like the temperamental boy of 14.  Through his body was taut with tension, his voice was calm and almost friendly as he spoke.  "I know how you work, Jack.  You double cross at every chance you get.  And if you honestly think that I will believe you won't kill her after I give you what you want, then you are seriously deluded."

"So where does that leave us?"

"If you escort her to the airport, and give her money to get on a flight, then I will give you the account number and I will sign my name on the transfer slip.  But I have to be there with you when you let her go."  He stared at Jack intently.  "Those are the conditions."

Jack laughed.  "The conditions?  My, my, don't we sound all professional now."

"Jack."

The gang leader shook his head.  "No, Johnny, I don't think I like those conditions.  And you're right, you do know me too well.  Why, once she gets into the airport and we pull away, I'd already have my shadow tracking her down again.  There's no point in lying, JC, because it only wastes time.  And that's something I'm short on right now."  Jack turned away toward the pool table, pulled something out from underneath.  When he turned back, an object glinted around his hand.  Slowly it unraveled and swung as he walked, each link of the chain tapping against each other with a quiet slink.  "No, I think we'll just have to use the conventional method.  You remember this right?  Beat him till he breaks?"  Jack laughed softly.  The chain went up into the air and began spinning around faster and faster, and then Jack's arm was falling toward the movie star.


	7. Revelations

Disclaimer:  Johnny and Sonya aren't mine. (SOB!)  But all the other characters are.  Doesn't that make me special?

'3, 2, 1.'  Using the arms holding him as a lever, Johnny jumped up and kicked both legs out in front of him, sending them right into Jack's stomach.  The gang leader was thrown back, his arms flailing in a wide arc to catch his balance, and his lack of control sending the singing chain right down across the face of the man holding Johnny's left arm.  

He cried out and loosened his grip on the actor, who wasted no time in breaking free, ducking down to a half crouch while shifting his weight into the other man holding his right arm, pulling the clueless member onto his back, and throwing him off to fall right into his pal.  They sat on the floor dazed.

There was a shout and Johnny felt something snap against his head.  He stumbled forward, rolled, and stood.  Sean held a broken pool stick and was slowly advancing.  Hank tried to creep around to the side, and Jack was pulling out a knife.  'Let's dance.'  Hank attacked first.  An easy side step and a chop to the back of the neck sent the scrawny brown haired man to the floor.  The knife clattered to the floor and slid under the pool table.  Johnny caught a flash of blonde and bobbed to the side as Sean swung the right stick at him.  The left lashed out toward Johnny's right side, but before it could hit he seized the pool stick with his left hand, spun around so his back was to Sean, and pulled the surprised attacker over his shoulder.  The blonde lay dazed on the floor.  

The wall next to his head sprayed with a few pieces of plaster.  Johnny dodged to the side as the chain whipped down again, aimed straight for his throat.  As the spinning metal came at him a third time, Johnny threw his arm out and hissed as the metal wrapped around his arm, burning his arm red with the sting of its attack.  But now he had a grip, and pulled the chain into his hand and yanked Jack toward him.  The leader wasn't expecting this and was dragged helplessly right into Johnny's fist.  He flew back onto the pool table.  Three more blows sailed across his face as he tried to get up, but Johnny's bombardment of devastating punches was leaving him dazed and short of breath.  Jack's face slammed down into the pool table from a vicious backfist.  He noticed for the first time the amount of blood that was staining the green cloth.  All of it was his.  Coldness seeped into his neck, and suddenly he couldn't breath, his back was arching up, and Johnny was slowly tightening his hold on the chain.

"You kill me, they kill her," Jack gasped in a small voice.  He attempted to swat at Johnny but his arms weren't long enough to reach the head of the slightly taller actor.

Johnny pulled harder on the chain, forced Jack farther up from the table, and hissed into his ear.  "Tell me where she is, and pray to God I don't find her harmed or else I will do you over so fucking good--"

A click.  Johnny tensed as the barrel pressed deeper into his temple.  'Shit.'  

"Let go of the chain, JC, and back up."

'That voice… who the hell?'  Johnny couldn't place it, but did as it asked.  Slowly he let the chain loosen he removed it from Jack's neck.  His eyes tried to shift to the man standing next to him, but he was hidden behind him.  

Jack, coughing and red faced, stood up straight, cracked his neck, and glared at the man behind Johnny.  "It's about time."

"Traffic was a bitch tonight."

 Jack stepped up to Johnny and punched him.  Johnny's head was knocked back with the force of the hit, and he was slightly dizzy.  "I see you're still as stubborn as always.  I guess we'll just have to find another way to break you in."  Jack lifted his cold eyes to the man behind Johnny.  "Let's g--"

The door at the back opened and someone voice drifted across the room.  "Boss, we got a problem upstairs."

"Not now!" Jack snapped.

"It's Lee.  He wants his money."

Jack stared at the wall for a moment.  "All right," he growled.  "Sean, Hank, let's go.  You, keep him here," Jack commanded Johnny's captor, and then he walked out.  His fellow members limped past, their icy glares threatening of future retaliation.  The door slammed shut and the room became silent.

Now Johnny was left alone with a man he couldn't recognize.  Without warning he was shoved forward, his head being purposefully rammed into the side of the pool table.  The actor stumbled to the floor.  Feet shuffled near him, and then he was dragged to a sitting position, his back was leaned up against a leg of the table, and he could feel cold metal wrapping itself around his wrists.  The cuffs clicked closed.  A moment later, a face drifted into his fuzzy vision, and Johnny's eyes widened slightly in surprise. 

"Hey buddy.  Ooh, nasty cut there.  Get into a fight again?" he mocked.  He was about 6'2", with a very lean figure, jet-black hair, and completely white eyes with the black pupils showing through from what Johnny had to assume was contacts.  He would have been handsome if not for the ripples of keloid tissue that traveled down the left side of his face.  Horrible burn scars was what it looked like.  

"Tommy."  

"I'm glad you remember me.  I mean, after all, you're now this big hot shot celebrity.  Why would you even care to think about your old family?"

Johnny didn't give him the pleasure of an answer.

"But then again, you never really understood family, did you JC?  You never understood the loyalty between us.  And while you've been attending your big Hollywood award ceremonies, I have been faithfully keeping the old gang together, and making a new one while Jack was… out of town.  After sixteen fucking years, I still do everything he asks, without question.  Now that, JC, is loyalty."

"You tell me that like I'm supposed to care," Johnny muttered.

"Oh, I know you don't care."  Tommy reached inside his coat and pulled out something that looked like a rubber band, only longer.  It snapped across his hands.  "But loyalty has its benefits.  Like the ability to backstab when no one is expecting it.  See, when Jack was arrested, I finally got my due.  I was leader of the pack.  I had my own gang, and they did everything I said, or I killed them.  That's what happened with Anty, and Matt, and Drake, ya know.  They did things I didn't like, they tried to betray me, so I killed them without question.  And for sixteen fucking years, I was my own master."  Tommy's voice turned hard as ice while he leaned forward and wrapped the band tightly around Johnny's right arm, just above the elbow.    "And then Jack was up for a re-evaluation of his case.  He was going to be let out.  And he wanted to take back everything.  He wanted to be the leader again, wanted to take away everything I worked so fucking hard for, and he expected me to give it up silently, without question.  

"I was so tempted to kill him when he got out.  I had it all planned out in my mind how I would welcome him back into the fold, before beating the shit out of him.  Then I saw a poster for a movie, starring some guy named Johnny Cage.  And this guy, he was familiar.  So I had some research done by some of my more upperclass members.  Told me you had changed your name.  Told me you were a big star.  Told me you had money; money that I desperately needed for my gang.  And it gave me an idea.  I knew Jack wanted you dead, so I'd help him get you, let him get access to your money.  And then I'd kill Jack and take the money for myself.

"So I reverted back to humble servant.  I kept tabs on you, kidnapped your little slut like Jack asked, and I set up the pleasant surprise in your bathroom.  And now that I have Jack's complete trust, I can move in for the kill."  His hand slipped into his coat again, and this time, he pulled out a small metallic object.  

Johnny recognized it almost immediately, and began to struggle with his cuffs.

"Only I'm not going to be the one to kill him.  I think I'll leave that to you."  Tommy smiled viciously as he flicked the needle.  Next his hand wrapped around Johnny's throat and began suffocating him.  "We all know how much you hate Jack for threatening your girl, and we all know how violent you get when you're angry.    So, it wouldn't be such a surprise if you went crazy seeing your girl done over, and you just happened to kill Jack…" 

Johnny choked under the pressure, and his struggling began to cease from lack of oxygen.  A burning sensation went up his arm as the syringe was pressed into his skin, making him hiss in pain.  'No…'

"…Now would it?"  Tommy yanked the needle out after depositing all of the injection into the actor's blood stream.  He chuckled as he hid the syringe away and unwrapped the band from Johnny's arm.  "The best part of it all: none of it would lead back to me.  This way, I get the money, I get the gang back, and I still have their trust.  You know how much we despise backstabbers."  Tommy smiled smugly before walking over to the cabinet to fix a drink.  He offered one for Johnny, but the actor cut him off.

"I must commend you.  It's a beautiful plan.  Just as fucking beautiful as your face, Frankenstein."  Johnny grinned slightly.  "Speaking of which, what did happen to your face?  You get burned by one of your hired flamers?"

The glass shattered against the wall and suddenly Johnny was breathless with the kicks he took in the stomach.  He tried to roll away, but was restricted by his cuffed wrists.  The actor could do nothing more but sit and bear it.  His vision was beginning to black out when his head was yanked up and Tommy's face fuzzed in and out of the swarming darkness.

"You are so fucking expendable, JC," the scarred man sneered.  "It's only out of my good patience that you're still alive.  But don't worry, that won't last for long."  Tommy reached around and undid the cuffs.  Johnny wanted to pounce him but was too dizzy, and suddenly so tired.  The drug was kicking in.  "Rex!"  The door opened.  Johnny could see a shadow crossing the floor.  "Get him up."

The world around was beginning to shift.  When Johnny was hauled to his feet, he was overcome by a sudden wave of nausea and tried to grip his stomach.  The two henchmen wouldn't allow it.  They dragged his staggering form down the hall to another room.  It felt like hours to get there, but it was only a few steps.  Johnny knew he was drifting away, and he tried to fight it, but the euphoria was coming back, and he was so tempted to just sink away…  

He shook his head violently, throwing himself and his captors off balance, but things cleared up ever so slightly.  The next thing Johnny knew, he was in the new room.  The light fixture swayed back and forth across the ceiling, casting a changing light over the room.  As soon as Johnny inhaled, he was dizzy again with nausea.  Sweat hit first, followed by the pneumonia scent of urine.  A stale taste of sex hovered in the air as well, making a concoction of frightening reality the deeds that took place here.  Johnny's eyes finally adjusted to the low light of the room as images became more than shadows.  

There was a bed.  There was a shape beneath the sheets.  There were discolorations all over.  Strips of cloth were bound tightly around the posts.  Patches of white were barely discernable among the deep rouge.  Blood rolled across the floor and swam down the walls.  They began to take shapes, _oh God_, the horrid shapes of screaming women and rapists going after them.  The men were hitting the women so hard, and the blood continued to gush until Johnny was choking, was drowning, was dying…

Johnny heard a gunshot and his body jolted against the wall.  He pulled his hands toward his pounding heart to feel for the blood from the wound, but found he couldn't move his arms.  Above him, his wrists lay locked in handcuffs.  The gunshot he heard was the click of the cuffs closing.  This revelation didn't slow his heart, or the sudden perspiration that was making his body slick.  Something smacked his face, and a three-headed Tommy was swaying in front of him.

"It's gonna be real entertaining to watch, JC.  After sixteen fucking years, Jack's finally got his man."  Tommy leaned closer to whisper right in the actor's ear.  "Or at least, that's what he thinks."  Tommy slapped Johnny's face in a gesture that could almost be described as friendly.  And with that, he walked out.

But Johnny couldn't tell where he went.  Doors were opening and closing everywhere, and shapes were dancing in front of his eyes.  Moving like a strobe light, a figure walked across the room, right up to him, right through him.  Johnny started laughing.  He stopped abruptly.  Something reached his ears.  Why was he here again?  He didn't want to ride the pony.  Another bark of laughter, and tears were streaming down his face.  

His head tilted back against the wall, and he looked around the room again.  Someone was watching him.  His heart raced.  Didn't he know her?  The pretty girl couldn't speak.  Something was in her mouth.  He liked her hair.  She had red hair, and then it became green, black, and went back to red.  Red suited her pretty face.  Why was she crying?  She looked so close but she sounded so far away.  

Johnny's heart began to race again.  She was drifting away!  'No, don't go!'  She was becoming distorted.  What was she saying? 

_…No, Johnny…_

Her hair was changing again.  Johnny wished his hair could do that.  Oh, blonde was pretty.  Wait… blonde and red, that's odd.  His stomach lurched and he pitched forward with dry heaves.  'Sonya…'

A distant bang.  A muffled cry.  A sick laugh.

"Oh, look at the little boy all upset for his girl."

A giant tulip was talking to him.

"Tommy beat you up?  You mentioned his face.  He's still mad at you about that."

'Don't touch fire to see if it's hot.'

"You know what happened right?  The fire at the bar?  All those years ago when you got free?"

'I like flames.  Flames burn.  That's hot.'

"Tommy took too long to get out."

'That's what condoms are for.'

"But enough of that.  The past is done.  Let's worry about the present.  The account.  Number.  Password.  Transfer.  Got it?"

'Got milk.'

"Call and demand a transfer."  

Something was shoved in Johnny's face.  He shook his head violently from left to right, making him more nauseous and more dizzy and the colors more free falling.  He didn't want sardines, stop making him eat the fucking sardines!

"No?!"

'No!  Ow.'  The tulip smacked him with a heavy leaf.  Johnny almost started laughing.  It was so great; he didn't feel anything.  He had no awareness of pain.  

"Fine."  

Johnny's darkening eyes grew.  The tulip was Jack.  'Hey, neat trick.  Where's he flying off to?  Ooh, he's flying.  No, wait.  Touching her?  Pretty red head, don't touch the hair.  Pretty red head?  Charlie Brown liked the pretty red head.  Snoopy.  Snoooopy.'

Johnny cowered into the wall.  'Stop screaming!  Stop making her scream! ' Johnny didn't like screaming.  Screaming scared him.  She was always screaming, and it scared him.  

No, dear God, Johnny!  

'No, what?'

_…No, please don't… please, Johnny, no more…_

'I can't.  I can't stop.  God, why won't she stop screaming!'

Johnny watched helplessly as he ripped her clothes, he pinned her down, he made her bleed.  Tears streamed from his eyes.  'Please make him stop hurting her!'

Johnny's muscles convulsed and clenched, and he couldn't breath.  He jumped with every new scream, and his eyes focused through the flowers and the bees and the falling stars to see that beautiful woman being ravaged by that hate filled man.  He was powerless to stop it.  Why couldn't he stop it?  Why couldn't he save her?

'Christine…  Christine!'

Christine?  'Sonya.'  His Sonya.  Jack was hurting his Sonya.

But that's not what he was seeing.  Sonya was gone.  She disappeared into the beautiful redheaded prostitute.  The black walls became the fire-engine brick.  The new mattress rotted into a lumpy decrepit piece of haggard furniture.  

And he was hurting her again.  Christ the blood.  The screams.  That hideous laughter.  Her tears dripped from her swollen eyes; the blood oozed from her chaffed wrists.  Just like the blood that rolled down his arms and into the floor.  Their mixed pains, their collided fears.

And Johnny was powerless to stop him.

'What?'

Johnny jolted against the wall.  'No…'

Christine begged for help.  Begged him to stop.

Begged him to stop him.

Sonya screamed.  Christine screamed.  

_…No, please don't … please, Johnny, no more…_

_            …No, please don't … please, Tommy, no more…_

            A surge ran through Johnny's shivering body, his breaths became pants of dawning horror.

            _No, dear God, Johnny!_

_No, dear God, Tommy!_

'…Or at least, that's what he thinks…'

'… After sixteen fucking years, Jack's finally got his man… or at least, that's what he thinks…'  

…He was in the alley, he kissed Christine.  She went downstairs.  He went downstairs.  He was being carried?   The red room.  Christine, bed.  Him, bed.  No, him, wall.  Wall?  Vince and Anty.  What are they doing?  No, not the handcuffs again!

_…No, please don't … please, Tommy, no more…_

"Christine!"

Johnny went stiff.  'Tommy…'

"Christine!" 

After sixteen years of the guilt… of the hate… of the self loathing…  And now that he knew the truth, he couldn't get out of it.  Tommy kept raping her, kept hurting her, kept making her scream.  Johnny couldn't handle it.  He had to stop him.  This time he would stop him.  This time he wouldn't get free.  With a vicious scream, Johnny pulled himself from the wall, pulled himself out of the cuffs that weren't shut properly, and charged the young boy that killed Christine.

His steps were faulty by his mind determined, and oh, he could taste the blood.  It was sweet and cold and so fulfilling.  It was the only thing on his mind when he crashed into the man on the bed and sent him in a mass of limbs to the floor.

"What the fuck!"

"Kill you!  Tommy--bastard!"

Jack's face twisted in surprise.  He pulled his arms in front of his face to block the blows, but they kept coming, along with the accusations that Jack couldn't understand.

"Set up—damn chain—raped her!"

Jack was able to knock the enraged actor from him and seized his wrists in an attempt to stop the punching.  They struggled viciously on the floor.

"You killed her!  Raped, beat her!  Not me!"

"Liar!" Jack snarled.  "Tommy tried to keep you from running!  He found you right when she died, and he stopped you!"

"No, you never left!" Johnny slurred back, still convinced it was Tommy he was fighting.  "I remember!  Anty!  Vince!  Dragged me down… chained to the wall!  You were there!"

"No!"

"I never touch—never touched--her!"

"Yes you did!" Jack screamed back.  "You were covered--!"  He paused.  His face scrunched slightly.  Wait—

Nick and Hank were making some dirty jokes while Sean stumbled around the alley, threatening to drop the pack of beer every time he took a step.  Jack was simply quiet.  Chris wasn't at her corner, and he didn't like that.  He expected her there, just like every other night.  Of course, she may have had a job and would stop by later, but it still didn't settle the jealousy and the anger.  When they walked into the hideout, Anty and Vince were leaning against the bar, their heads down and faces somber.  Matt and Drake looked dead on the floor.  Tommy was leaning against the door to the red room, tension obvious in his body.  Jack's quick eyes perceived Tommy's different shirt, and the knuckles on his one hand were scuffed and bloody.  He turned to face the leader.  Taut and pale was his face, but his eyes burned with fury.

_"Jack… something's happened…"_

_"You were the best, JC, and then you betrayed me!  You fucking betrayed me!  You are a dead man.  You are a fucking dead man!  Nobody messes with my fucking property!!"  Jack raised his bat to hit him again, but something heavy crashed to the floor in the other room.  Jesus Christ, now what?  He quickly turned and marched out of the red room.  He was not pleased with what he saw.  The poker table was knocked to the floor, chips and cards having flown everywhere, and Drake was lying curled on his side, holding his bloody nose.  "What the fuck is going on out here?!"_

_Anty, who held the fist he had used to hit Drake, nodded at the injured boy.  "They're making up lies.  The drugs are getting to them."_

_"No, you were here, damn it!  We saw you!"_

_"Shut up!" Vince screamed and pulled a gun on Matt.  "Just shut the fuck up!"_

_Tommy grabbed Vince and started wrestling him.  "Drop it!  Drop it!"_

_"Goddamn it!"  Jack grabbed Matt to keep him from going after Vince.  "Everyone stop!  Just fucking stop!"  They listened, and aside from some heavy breathing, everyone was cool.  "Now what the hell is this about?"_

_"They were here, Jack, we saw'em," Drake groaned as he got up._

_"Shut up, Drake, you don't know what you're saying," Anty snapped._

_"You dragged her down here!" Matt countered._

_"The drugs are mixing you up again, Matt," replied Tommy in a controlled tone.  "Jack, believe me, when we got back, she was already dead.  These guys were passed out, they're making shit up…"_

The argument.  The fight that distracted Jack long enough for Johnny to get out.  Matt and Drake were saying that Tommy Vince and Anty were in hideout the whole time Johnny was there with Christine.  But it didn't make sense.  If they were there, they would have stopped Johnny.  

Right?

Tommy said him, Vince, and Anty, had found Johnny after she was dead.  Said that they had stopped him before he could get away.  So they wouldn't have been in the hideout.  They should have stayed there until Jack returned, but if they went out for a smoke, then sure.  But Jack was only gone for a short time.  Christine must have come by just after he left.  How could they have not seen her, or her with Johnny?  There was such a short time frame, where could that have gone that made the them all miss spotting each other…

Jack inhaled sharply.  He had looked at Christine and went into a rage.  His eyes shifted to Johnny and he went at him with hurricane force.  But there was something odd, and he didn't pick it up until now.  

Johnny was clean.  Jack saw in his mind the blue-eyed boy cuffed to the wall, just before Jack went at him, and he saw no blood.  Not a drop.  Nothing.

Tommy… his knuckles were scuffed and bleeding…

"I missed it," Jack muttered.  "I was so angry… I missed it."  His eyes went cold.  "That son of a bitch…"

Jack always knew Tommy hated JC.  He never bothered to hide it.  Used to complain Jack was getting too close with the younger boy, and leaving him high and dry.  Jack suddenly understood.  Tommy framed JC so Jack would kill him.  Tommy killed her.  Jack was going to kill the wrong guy. 

"JC, let me up."

"Fuck you!  You die!  Now!"

"No!  I'm not Tommy!"  But the actor wouldn't listen.  He untangled his arms from Jack's grip and wrapped his hands firmly around Jack's throat.  The pressure increased, his vision rippled in colors of black and red and white, until he brought his knee up into Johnny's stomach.

The movie star, already having acute nausea, was instantly doubled over as the pain in his stomach increased.   He moaned into the floor when Jack rolled him off, and he gripped at his pounding head.  So sick, he felt so sick.  And suddenly, his anger was gone.  All he wanted to do was sleep.

Where was he again?

He looked up at the figure standing over him.  It had bright red eyes and four arms and long black hair.  Johnny's heart raced in fear at the knowledge that Goro was going to kill him.  He blinked.  Goro was gone.  Jack was staring at him.  The leader's eyes became slits, and with clenched fists and taut muscles, Jack walked out of the room. 

It became strangely quiet.  Even Christine was without sound.  There were no screams.  The demons disappeared.  Johnny felt himself relax.  Floating.  He was floating.  'Ooh, how nice.'  He twitched.  'Who's there?'

"Johnny…"

His head rolled back on his neck.  With jerky movements his eyes observed the room.  It was circular.  Wasn't it square?

"Johnny?"

His eyes looked for the sniffling.  They were hiding under the sheets.  The sniffles.  Evil, evil dust bunnies.  Over the lumps of their furry bodies, Johnny looked at the pale form painted red.  Such pretty red hair.  Why does she have red hair?

"Johnny!"

"Son…ya?"  Dragging himself to his knees, he crawled over to the bed.  "Sonya?"

"Johnny, oh God, what did they do to you?"

He ran his fingers through her red hair, red hair?  Blood.  Her hair was dripping with blood.  It ran down her face and neck.  It stained into the pillows.  Even in Johnny's drug induced state, he could see how much blood was gone from her.  Was it all hers?  His fingers fluttered from her hair and moved up her arms to the strips of stained white bound around her wrists.  It took many minutes of struggling, but Johnny finally undid the bands.  

As soon as she was free, Sonya flew up into his arms.  Though he felt disorientated, he felt like she was miles away from him, he reached his arms out and pulled her closer.  Bugs crawled over his arms and around his face, and though he tried to swat them away, they came back.

"Johnny… what happened to you?  Oh, God, there's so many cuts."  She pulled his head up to look him in the eyes, and she noticed he was sweating profusely.  His body was hot to the touch, and his eyes were jerking rapidly from side to side.  "They drugged you."

Johnny nodded slowly, so slowly, because everything was slowing down.  "Ang…angel dust."

Her eyes grew large under her purple bruises, and then she nodded.  Her mouth went tightlipped and she was already undoing the ties at her feet.  With a small bounce she was off the bed and pulling Johnny to his feet.  "All right, Cage.  Let's get the hell out of here."

'No.  Weak.'  But Johnny couldn't say it.  He shuffled the few paces to the door and began to pitch forward.  He had no balance.  He had no strength to stand on his own.  Sleep, that was all he wanted.  Sonya's arms wrapped around him and he could make out her heavy breathing as she supported him, though she herself wasn't in much better shape.  They stepped through the doorway and down the hall that was surprisingly clear.  

"No… too far…" Johnny gasped.  The hallway stretched on for miles.  There was no way they could get out of here.  "Won't make it."

"Like hell we won't."

Gunshots echoed off the walls, making Johnny shout at the sudden explosions.  He tried to pull Sonya to the floor, tried to tell her they were being shot at, but she continued walking.  They passed a room with the door partially open.  Blood oozed under the crack, and three dead bodies lay inside, all shot.  

Johnny stumbled, nearly taking them both down.  Sonya grunted and lifted him back to his feet.  Her arm tightened around his waist.  "Stay with me, Johnny."  They reached the stairwell without mishap, and somehow made it up.  The music of the club blared behind the doors where the bouncers stood stoically, and Sonya knew that if they could just make it past those doors, they'd be all right.  She remembered that when she was first brought inside.  It was just getting past the doors…

She tensed.  

"This… isn't… over…" 

She looked past the gun barrel to the mangled face of the man who had jumped her in the alley.  He had multiple lacerations on his face and neck, blood dripped into a spreading pool at his feet.  Yet his teeth still glistened a bright white in the pale light of the room.  A vicious smile greeted the lieutenant and actor.  The gun waved back toward the basement.  

"Back… downstairs," he panted lightly.  "And we'll… discuss the final… exchange."

Sonya knew they'd be killed, but attempted escape was futile.  Both were too weak.  Her pride wouldn't accept that, though.  With a sudden snap kick, she knocked the scarred gang members arm up into the air, moving the gun away from them for just a moment.  She let go of Johnny, who collapsed to the floor without the support, and spun into a swinging backfist that knocked her kidnapper right into the door leading out to the club.  But she couldn't get the gun out of his hand, and he was suddenly aiming for her heart; two bullets exploded with a terrible crack and she jumped as they lodged themselves into her chest.

Only she wasn't hit.  But her attacker was.  He sank to the ground, dead before he hit the floor from the bullet to the head.  The other bullet was gouged into the wall.  In a moment the door was flung open and the bouncers entered, armed and angry.

"Jack?!"  

Sonya turned to the body crawling across the floor.  Her face turned in anger at the man who tried to rape, who almost achieved it, but she noticed the smoking gun in his hand.  

"Let these… two out.  They… are with me."  Jack smiled painfully at Sonya.  "Sorry… for it all."  His head lowered to the floor, and he didn't move again.

"What the fuck?!  What the hell happened here?!" one of the bouncers yelled at Sonya.  

She completely ignored him, instead focusing on getting her companion to his feet.  "Johnny, get up, we have to go."  She moved him onto his back and placed her one hand under his neck while the other rested on his chest as she tried to regain his focus on her.  "Johnny!"  It took her a moment to realize something was wrong with her hand; it wasn't moving with his chest.  Her fingers moved and pressed into his neck.  They flew to her mouth as it fell in a silent cry.

He had no pulse.  His heart had stopped.

Johnny Cage was dead.


	8. Noble Intentions

Disclaimer:  Johnny and Sonya aren't mine. (SOB!)  But all the other characters are.  Doesn't that make me special?

Aside from the shuffling of feet, the nurses talking in the halls, and the steady beeping of the heart monitor, the hospital room was quiet.  Johnny laid on the bed, covered in bandages with intravenous tubes inserted in his arms, quietly gazing out the window.  Dark bags and barely opened eyes signaled his exhaustion, and his unusually pale skin illustrated the great ordeal he had recently gone through.  It had been five days since he was omitted from an overdose of PCP and an extreme loss of blood.  He had no memory of how he got into the hospital, or what had taken place the past five days while he was swimming in and out of consciousness.  His only way of learning information was from a nurse and his doctor, who checked on him regularly.  Through them he learned that he had gone into cardiac arrest, and he had been dead nearly five minutes before paramedics revived him and rushed him to the hospital.  For the past week he had mostly slept, though sometimes woke in screaming fits.  Once he attacked a nurse who tried to rouse him from a flashback.  He didn't hurt her, though he became violent when medical aides tried to tie him down.  Johnny was terrified at his behavior, but was reassured by the doctor that it was only the drug working its way out of his system, and that the nurse had been mistaken in trying to awaken the actor.  

When he inquired about Sonya, he learned that she was treated for several bruises, chaffed wrists, gashes along the arms, two broken ribs and a broken wrist, and had been released two days ago.  She had come by a couple times when she was still admitted, but he had been asleep or delirious with flashbacks that kept him out of touch with reality.  None of the staff had seen her come back since.  That didn't surprise him.  Honestly, he didn't expect to see her again.  

Especially not at that moment.

Yet there she was, walking calmly, if not a bit stiffly from her injured ribs, into the room with her hair tied back in a basic ponytail and a bundle in her hands.  Her face was slightly swollen, but most of the bruises had faded to just about nothing.  A butterfly bandage covered a cut at her temple, and there was a small bandage over her right cheek.  Other than that, she looked fine.  Her usually neutral expression broke into a wide smile when she saw he was awake.  On the edge of the mattress she sat, with the bundle placed next to her and her hand slipping into his to give him a comforting squeeze.  "Hey, stranger.  Welcome back."

A weak smile was all he could manage, though inside he wanted to pick her up and spin her around the room.  "Hey, yourself," he murmured back.  He grimaced slightly at how weak his voice was.  "You look good."

She laughed, something he hadn't heard her do in a long time.  "I know, I've been getting compliments from every guy I pass about my swollen cheeks.  They say it sets off my eyes."  Her laugh faded, though her smile didn't.  She traced her free hand across his brow to push away a limp strand of hair.  "Oh," she clucked in a chastising tone.  "Your hair's getting greasy.  Slacking off again with your daily hygiene?"  A finger shook playfully in his face.  "Lazy, lazy."

The actor had the decency to look bashful about her teasing reprimand, but he didn't say anything.  He simply stared at her, which after a moment made Sonya fidget.

"What?  Do I have something in my teeth?"

"No," Johnny replied with a strained chuckle.  "I'm just surprised… to see you."

Sonya's smile melted away into something more serious.  Her head tipped forward to look at their interlaced fingers.  "You thought I wasn't going to come back."

Johnny merely nodded.

Her fingers traced up his arm, and came back down in a soft, almost ticklish movement.  "You don't have much faith in me."

"No," Johnny replied hoarsely.  "No, it's not that… not at all."

"Then why would you think I wouldn't come back?"

Johnny's jaw clenched for a moment.  "I didn't think… I thought you wouldn't want this… anymore."  Johnny found his breathing to be slightly heavier as he talked.  He couldn't believe he was so weak that talking was difficult.

Sonya frowned.  "Want what?"

"The lies.  The deceit.  The risks."

The blonde lieutenant almost laughed.  Her blue eyes blazed with unmistakable allure.  "Risks keep life interesting."

"But not when… life itself is the risk."

"You think I'm risking my life being with you?  That's a bit haughty, wouldn't you say?"

"Sonya.  I'm serious.  You could get hurt."  He carefully lifted his hand to her face.  "You already have."

"That comes with living, Johnny.  Everyone gets hurt once in a while.  But that doesn't mean I should run and hide at the first sign of danger.  Besides, we both know that when I need to, I can take care of myself."

"I shouldn't… put you in a place… where you need to."

Sonya sighed in exasperation.  "There you go again, always trying to be the hero like in one of your movies."  Her eyes reflected in the ceiling lights, and he could see no cruelty in them at the remark.  "When are you going to learn that you can't protect me from everything?"

"I could have protected you… from this."

"You tried, remember?  You attempted to abandon me in Venice."

Johnny winced slightly.  He could hear a touch of hurt in her voice.  "But my plan backfired… because you're stubborn as an ass."

"You're plan backfired because I didn't want to give up on you, as easily as you gave up on me."

Now Johnny really looked stung.  "I didn't… give up on you, Sonya."

"Then why didn't you tell me from the start what was going on?"

"I didn't want you involved.  I knew that… if Jack found out I had a girl, he would… go after her.  That's exactly what I didn't want.  So I did… what I thought was necessary to get you away from me… without leaving room for doubt."  He looked away from her, out the window.  "I guess if I wanted to get rid… of you, I should have told you… about Christine from the start."

Sonya didn't hide the shock on her face.  "You think I would have left because of that?"

"You really would have stayed with… a rapist?" Johnny replied with contempt.

She opened her mouth to answer, but she said nothing.

"That was how Tommy got you… right?  You left the room because you were disgusted… by what I told you." 

"I wasn't disgusted, Johnny," Sonya countered quietly.  "I was upset, and I was scared, for both of us.  But I was not disgusted.  Because I knew that something wasn't right.  You are a good man.  You help others; you do what's right.  You are self-sacrificing.  Those are not the traits of a druggie rapist.  They are not the traits of a murderer."  She peered into his eyes, held them with her own.  "They are your traits, Johnny Cage.  Not Tommy's."

He blinked at her.  "What?"

"I heard what you said to Jack, about being set up.  You said it was Tommy, and when Jack walked out without killing us, I knew it had to be true."  A moment of hesitation passed.  "Do you still remember what happened that night with Christine?" she asked carefully.

"Yes," Johnny said with a tight nod.  "Tommy raped her.  He killed her… while I was chained to the wall.  I must have been drugged… probably by Vince.  I'd bet my money on… LSD.  That was why everything I remembered… was distorted.  And then, when I went to get you, Tommy… drugged me again.  He left my cuffs undone, so I could get loose when Jack… started touching you.  Tom knew I'd get so angry… he wanted me to kill Jack.  But as I watched… I remembered what happened with Christine."  He paused when the memories started to come back.  "I didn't just remember, Sonya, I lived it.  It was so real… and so terrifying."  He swallowed in an attempt to push down the knot in his throat.  "I just wish I could have done something… I wish I could have helped…"

Sonya's fingers suddenly covered his pale lips.  "Shh.  Don't think about it anymore.  Just take comfort in knowing it wasn't you.  You never did anything wrong.  You were in a helpless situation, and even if you could relive the moment, you wouldn't be able to stop what happened."  

"I wish I… could tell her I'm sorry."

She smiled.  "You have nothing to apologize for.  I know that, and I know Christine does, too."

Johnny nodded.  "Thanks, Sonya."

She looked from side to side, checking furtively to make sure no one was looking, and then she lied down beside him, being mindful of his injuries.  When his arm wrapped gently around her, she sighed and kissed his shoulder.

"Tired?"

"No," replied Sonya simply.  "No, it's just been about two weeks since I've been in your arms, and I was suffering from with drawl."

"Uh, oh," Johnny chuckled.  "Bad symptoms involved?"

"Oh, awful.  I get everything from mood swings to the desire to break dishes to pulsing urges to go shoe shopping.

"Sounds dangerous," he laughed softly.  

"It is.  I think I've hit every mall in the tri-county area.  Oh, remind me when we get home to give you back your Visa Master Card."

"Oh, no," Johnny groaned.  "Is it still usable?"

Sonya chuckled.  "It's got like twenty bucks left on it."

"Sonya!  That has… a $3000 credit!"

"I know."  She laughed when he groaned again.

"Women," he muttered.  

They sat in silence for a bit, each just taking the time to enjoy the other's company.  Johnny's fingers traced lightly on her back, and Sonya's hand taped softly on his chest.  Everything was pleasant for both, until Johnny's shoulder felt cold.  And then it felt damp.  

"Sonya?"

"Yeah?"

Her slightly strained voice didn't pass him.  "Are you all right?"

There was a small nod from her head.  "Yeah."

Johnny tightened his arm around her, but said nothing more.  He didn't need to.

"You scared me, Johnny."

The actor sighed inwardly.  He knew this was going to come.  "I'm sorry.  I never meant--"

"You were so close," she whispered.  "Another minute and brain damage would have set in.  And even after they revived you, there was still the possibility of a relapse."  Sonya's body pulled closer into his.  "You almost didn't make it."  Her voice became tight and soft.  "I almost lost you."

Johnny listened silently.  He hadn't been thinking about that.  He couldn't remember dying.  There was no bright light or religious music.  Rayden didn't even show up to accuse him of messing things up again.  He was just blacking out one minute, and in a hospital the next.  "How… how did the paramedics… get there so fast?"

"A murder reported in the alley.  Cops were apparently crawling around the club looking for information.  I almost went rampant getting them over to you."  She paused.  "They think it was Jack who murdered him."

Johnny didn't say anything.  

"Are you mad at him?"

"I'm mad he hurt you."

"He saved our lives."

"He-hurt-you," Johnny repeated forcefully.  "I could never… forgive him for that."  

"You hurt me," she whispered, making Johnny tense.  "Can you forgive yourself for that?"  His silence confirmed her suspicions.  "You made a mistake, John.  You have to let it go."

"I don't think I can."

"Why?  Brooding and regretting and wishing you could change the past are not going to change what happened.  What's done is done.  You have to move on."

"I-I'm afraid if I let it go… it'll happen again."

There was a long pause.  Johnny was wondering if Sonya had fallen asleep, she had become so still and quiet, until she spoke again.

"I was beaten by my last boyfriend."  When his body stiffened under hers, she caressed his shoulder and arm to make him relax.  "His name was Chase.  We meet when I first signed up for the army, and he was the most amazing guy.  Smart, quick, witty, polite.  He was a great friend and a loyal companion.  But most importantly, he treated me like an equal.  I fell in love with him, and I fell hard.  I would have gladly given my life for this man.  

"After a while, things started to change.  He didn't want me being around certain people, and he'd become incredibly jealous if I did things without his permission.  When I realized how possessive he was becoming, I backed out of the relationship.  He got so mad he came after me."  She took a deep breath.  "I didn't report him, or press charges like I should have.  Part of me screamed to get help, to get this guy arrested and locked away.  But my pride wouldn't let me.  I couldn't stand the idea of admitting that he hurt me, because then I knew that people would always be looking down on me with pity.  I would be seen as the girl who got beat up by an abusive boyfriend.  And I believed that all my friends would suddenly become overprotective.  I believed they'd see me as no longer capable of looking after myself; that they'd think I need a bodyguard everywhere I went.  But there was also the doubt that if I softened up to them, they could use me, just like Chase did.  I couldn't handle that, so I kept my mouth shut.  I toughened up and dealt with it until I got transferred about a year later.  

Her voice was monotone but scratchy, and Johnny noticed as she continued that her throat was becoming coated with unshed tears.

"After a while, I blanked out everything that happened.  I still had trouble trusting people, but I wasn't paranoid that he was around every corner or waiting under my bed.  And then… some guys were talking when we went out for a drink, and someone mentioned his name, and that he was up for dishonorable discharge and a possible life sentence.  I asked what for, because I never heard anything about it, and they told me for assault, battery, and murder."  She paused for a breath that was exhaled in a shaky puff of air.  "He went after another girl, who went to the authorities and put him up for evaluation.  He became so enraged that he kidnapped her and beat her to death.

"I was… God, I can't even describe what I went through when I heard that.  All I knew was that because I kept my mouth shut, another girl died.  If only I had said something… but I didn't, and I have to live with that fact.  The only way I could deal with the guilt was by promising myself that I would never let anyone take advantage of me or anyone I knew, and if I could stop that person before more harm was done, I'd risk everything to do it."  

"That's a noble intention, Sonya."

"Nobel and foolish.  It made me lose trust in everyone.  I saw no friends, only suspects.  Everything was a lie, and no one was clean enough.  Because I had no faith in others, I took the burden of so much work on my shoulders that I never gave myself a break; I never took the time to enjoy the life I was given… I threw away so much and looking back I've realized, finally, how much I gave up because I couldn't forgive myself.

"Now you're afraid to have faith in yourself, and I swear on my soul, you're going to suffer for it in the end.  You can't let a single mistake rule your life.  Because then it makes your life no longer worth living."

Again they both became quiet.  The sun outside was sinking behind the buildings, the sky was lit up red and purple and gold, and the room was tinted a pale orange.  It was peaceful, calming, and gave both the actor and lieutenant something to enjoy while they sorted their thoughts.

"Ok."

A frown.  "What?"

"Ok.  I'll work at it.  I'll let it go."

Sonya smiled.  "You promise?" 

"Only if I get lots of moral support, and a helluva lot of tender loving care."

"Sounds like it'll be more work for me than it will for you," Sonya chuckled a bit.  "But I guess I could handle it."  She smiled up at him and pressed a gentle kiss to his neck.  Then her face lit up, as if she remembered something.  She unfurled the bundle, and Johnny noticed some books inside a fresh pair of clothes.  "Here, I forgot about these.  Brought them for you from the hotel.  Your bags are being kept in a secure storage area, until you can pick them up.  Oh, they also said you have to pay for a broken mirror."  She frowned at him.  "I don't remember anything being wrong with the mirror."

"I smashed it, after Jack left a note."  Johnny didn't reveal anymore.  She gave him a questioning glance, but didn't push it.  If there was something he was hiding, she'd pry it from him later, after things cooled down.  She'd wait until they got home.

That thought reminded her of something.  She pushed aside the books to pull out something minute, which she placed beside him on the small, standard hospital dresser.  Recognition lit up in his eyes though Sonya pretended not to notice.  "I found this in your suitcase.  It looked kind of important, and I figured you'd want to hold onto it."  She smiled softly.  "Might just make you heal faster."

Carefully, the actor reached his hand across the bed and picked it up.  He spun it between his fingers and smiled.  "Actually," he replied softly, "I think it'd be safer with you.  After all that's happened these past weeks, I'm worried I might lose it."

"I don't know, Cage, my luck hasn't been that great lately, either," countered Sonya skeptically.

"I insist."

With a dramatic sigh, Sonya relented.  "Well, if you absolutely insist, but only until you get better."  She took the ring from him, and slipped it on her finger.  

"Damn.  I guess I'll have to learn to like the hospital food."

Sonya was about to retort when Nurse Thatcher walked in.  "Oh, Lieutenant Blade.  How are you?"  The two ladies exchanged pleasantries for a few moments.  "Well, I'm sorry to tell you this, but visiting hours are over in just a few minutes, and John needs to go through some more tests."

"I understand," Sonya remarked.  She leaned down to kiss Johnny on the forehead.  "Get better quick.  I miss you," she whispered in his ear.  Johnny gripped her wrist one last time, they shared a meaningful look, and then Sonya walked out of the room with a smile.

The End.

An extra piece of information:  As I said, I took this idea from the novelization of the movie by Martin Delrio.  If you haven't read the book, or have no clue what scene I'm referring to, this is it:

Master Boyd had found Johnny Cage, a poor kid running wild in the streets of Brooklyn, and had transformed him.  The old man taught Johnny about tradition.  About discipline.  About respect for himself and others.  All of the young men whom Johnny had run with before he met Boyd were dead now; dead, or in jail, or in the gutter strung out on drugs.  Only Johnny, the movie star, remained.


End file.
